the first time she drinks is out of the dishwasher clean glasses in my kitchen:

sprite and clear hard vodka stirred together and she coughs with the

embarrassment of a growing-older boy trying his first cigarette and we play

poker like we're the aristocracy of some run down youth hostel.

i become first class social money, write me up in a letter and kiss it

because i (cross my fingers) never tell. and in the arch of my back you can

feel muscles tense with high-heeled balance but in the arch of my full lips

you'll only find talent that you won't have unless you pay for it.

i drink too fast and it makes me hilarious (she calls me a lying down comedian,

because my legs are always open) and the boys don't believe that i

even inhale the cigarettes (but it's just regrettable addiction). they pay to dance

with me and i pay for abusing the clear cut law (it always looks so much like vodka).

how can i even help it? i'm not a bad influence, but then again, i'm always under it.