Shoplifted Makeup

Dubious Small Town Memories

They stop and stare
like they’ve always done—
slack-mouthed
shorn purple hair exposing fleshy necks
cackling like drunk harbor seals

We stare back
order exotic drinks
search for small flowers
fighting through
concrete cracks

We look for the murky old Junkie Alley
But the public toilet
with the shit-smeared tiles
and blood stains
is gone

The one where my brother’s best friend
stabbed himself in his teenage gut
harakiri-style
bled out

The party fountain is still here
renovated and gaudy,
the unicorns too bright,
the peasants too clean.

I remember the drunken
midnight baths
tossed in the water by questionable boys
from Italy or Greece

Our small curled bodies on park benches
after dancing til 6 am
no bus or trains, just a cold place to wait

Cheap Lambrusco
on the steps of the Gothic cathedral—
baring our fangs to passers-by

My mom smacking a lit cigarette
out of my pouty mouth,
not knowing
my fur coat was lined
with shoplifted makeup.

Fuel more bad decisions and keep the words coming.