In Memory of the Women of the Jefferson Street Safeway
One had pants that were barely more
than tight strings striping their flesh.
One had a twisting ponytail and a shiny nose
and legs that went on forever.
One had a smiling corgy with milky eyes.
One had an eagle tattooed across her chest,
a breast clutched in each talon.
One had an ivory spiral necklace
and rattlesnake bracelets and metal spikes
pointing in every direction.
One had a baby. One had two babies.
One had a flip flop on one foot
and nothing on the other.
One had a t-shirt with the Morton salt girl
that said “I’m a salty bitch.”
One had a sunken face like a soft apple.
One had a thousand eyes and
a pair of bony wings.
One had hair made of fire.
One had hair made of the word “hair”
written over and over across her scalp.
One had a hole in her so wide
I could have stuck my hand through it
and grabbed her ass.
One had mirrored sunglasses
and she asked “What are you looking at?”
and I didn’t tell her
I was looking at myself.
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