Phil

Darvon Date.

 

White powder buffers a tiny pink pill
inside a red and white capsule. The infirmary
prescribes them instead of aspirin.

 

Supposed to be better for our guts, since
we drink like fish and eat street crap.

 

I split the hulls,
stash the pills,
trash the rest.

 

Pretty and pink, she sinks into a
red, white, and blue-edged envelope.
I free her with my tongue, chase her
down with warm beer.

 

A perfect girlfriend who knows how
to take my mind off everything that’s
happening here.