she was something between a fabrication and a famine disclosing her leeway along saint fausta avenue clocklike pear-drops pleading the falter of her framework unrobed for all to remiss crystal women in abridged kaftans passed by in peckish parades coddling pussycat pocketbooks inhaling the spicy corkscrew sun pendulous men with wilting wives uprooted quarters for cajolery bracing for a madcap show she twirled her violent stare skivvied down to weeds undulating underbelly bones the garish grace of defrocked queens Previously published in The Furious Gazelle, May 2018
Mousetrap Molly
