fire escape...

fiona,
never one
to be outdone,
outsmarted, or
otherwise put in
her place,
hopped on
the phone and
began dialing
the men in
her little black
book. one by
one by one,
with a short
break for a light
snack of fruit, she
called them all,
speaking with
every ounce of
cheer she could
muster. "serves him
right." oh yes. it
certainly does.


forget about the bathroom window,
wavy glass painted over to obscure the view.
white paint. milk paint. flaked corners,
chipped cracks. the stuff of dreams,
peeling back. husking, the skin of teeth.
"they got out by the skin of their teeth..."

imagine. barefoot on lawn, nightdress. crystal
jewelry clutched in hand, faux rhinestones.
suburbia, worth less than an envelope of pennies.
suburbia: worthless.

neighbors sleeping, mouths open and tongues.
curling, convoluted nightmares
in which things are taken away,
forced elimination.
first the gum, and
then the socks.
magazines of
all shapes and sizes.

"there goes the fill-in-the-blank."

talk of the town, come undone,
back to the root of the issue.
huff, huff. sigh.