She wrote of liquor
and smoke and torn fishnets,
of last night’s makeup,
hot pink lipstick on white
teeth and foundation
smeared on lace colars.

She reeked of expensive perfume
and cheap Schnapps,
of sweat and sex
and the kind of fun
nice girls aren’t
supposed to have.

I could see her now,
as I read her words
aloud and found myself
missing the freedom
of twenty-one,
the life in her words
reminding me of what’s missing
from mine.

April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.