By Gretchen Gales
It is because Wacovia was bought out by Wells Fargo
my second best friend leaves for Florida and I’m left
with a baggie of Lunchable chicken nuggets, shaking
it so the dusting of nacho cheese can coat it perfectly,
evenly. It is in my hands, the shake shake a distraction
from the gaggle of girls who hate my glasses because
their parents got them contacts and I shouldn’t be a baby
anymore and just poke my eyes with flimsy disks, flexible
and thin like their ring leader. I refuse to put her in my sight.
Glass lenses shield from her shards until they pierce me
again in 5th grade, her vultures pluck at the meat on my stomach.
All hail Jennifer’s body, devourer of wonder, deliverer of rue.