Poisoned Apples (3 page)
Authors: Heppermann,Christine
Simon, anything you say
can be used against you in a court of law.
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E
ven though we don't really believe
all the crap about pale men and women,
their mouths wide as nightmares, lurching out
from the sinister trees, a trip to look for
the albino farm is as good an excuse as any
to get in that car and continue the story
of Terri, who draws on eyeliner with red pen,
and Karen deliberately spilling her vodka and Sprite
so she can take off her shirt and wave it out the car window,
and me, stuck once again with the ugliest guy,
the one with the half-assed mustache and tragic skin.
Speeding away from Westroads Mall and the PG movie
we will never see, we own this Omaha night.
Terri passes a joint with the driver.
Karen screams when the wind or cold
hands hit her bra, and I pretend nothing
is worming beneath my miniskirt,
while, not far off, a phosphorescent boy
blinks pinkly across a bonfire and says,
“Are those people for real?”
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E
ven the bruises she loves,
those bites when her mouth,
expecting resistance, sinks to the core
where the hissing begins tempting her
to scrape the flesh from every ruddy strip.
She hurries to swallow
the seeds, the stem, the clinging leaves.
Now Eve can see beyond the garden.
Now she knows there is nothing but hunger.
Each meal will be a new sweet punishment.
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Fairy Tale
O
nce upon a time there was a girl who
had a good hair week! Seven cute looks
she could do at home, and their names were
Waves, Bob, Bun, Bangs, Braid, Sleek, and
Party-Ready Ponytail.
One day, while out walking in the woods
at a steady pace with short bursts of speed,
the girl met a wolf and told him,
What big
smudge-free lashes you have!
The wolf said,
The better to see you
fix common makeup blunders; erase
years in minutes!
So the girl skipped
the loose powder, stuck to pastels, and
dabbed her lips with Spun Sugar
Plumping Gloss ($18), so delicious that
the wolf ate her up. The woodsman
rode byâtorching three hundred calories
in just thirty minutes!âlifted his axe,
and shouted,
Adios, belly flab!
It was a quick-and-easy workout.
The girl sprang from the wolf's
killer middle to snag fall's hottest
shoes and bags, and they all lived
happily
ever
ab-tastic.
Â
Art TK
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W
hat the miller's daughter should have said
from the start
or at any point down the line is,
no.
No, you can't drag me to the king.
No, I can't spin that room full of straw into gold.
No, not that room, either.
Or that one.
Quit asking.
No, I won't give you my necklace.
No, I won't give you my ring.
No, I can't give you the child;
the child will never exist.
End of story.
Once upon a time
there was a miller's daughter
who got a studio apartment,
took classes during the day,
waited tables at night,
and when customers asked
what's in the gravy
on the rump roast sandwich,
it's the best thing they've ever
tasted, she winked and said,
Guess.
Â
Art TK
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J
ill doesn't want me to feel bad.
Jill says Dylan isn't good enough for me.
Jill would let me borrow her green skirt,
but it's new, and I might stretch it out.
Jill is glad
her
parents don't force her
to buy hot lunch.
Jill knows a superchic way to do my hair
so it will hide my ginormous forehead.
Jill can teach me how to do my mascara
so my eyes look less squinty.
Jill can't help it if Dylan asked her to the movie.
Jill won't tell anyone
besides Dylan
about that time I peed my pants at Target.
Jill wishes I had made cheerleading, too,
but aren't her pom-poms cute?
Jill is
soooooo
glad we're BFFs because,
Like, who else could put up with you?
LOL!
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