Julie’s wings are in the way,
every time she turns, she is hitting one of us.
We are crowded on the roof of a bus.
I feel like dancing but the
music is too far away.
People below us are looking up at us
like baby birds, arms outstretched,
hungry for pieces of immaculate sin,
hoping we will notice them,
single one of them out.
They begin to look the same,
a sea of pleading faces.
Julie is playing the evil swan tonight,
her wings are black and
when she flies she is invisible in the night sky.
Bill is throwing necklaces to gay boys
and bragging about his aim.
I am drinking wine from a pop bottle,
the lid doesn’t fit tight and wine
is sticky on my hand.
by Cher Bibler