Gala Is Also A Type Of Apple

Jessamine Way Fog

I was about to go off my meds

So I got behind the wheel of my instant Ferrari

And peeled out for the drive-thru happiness.

The neighbors gawked, the birds sang and the squirrels squirreled.

Nice, said my shadow,

Sitting beside me ensconced in a bucket of fine Corinthian leather,

You know, he continued, and I hit the eject button

But no worries, shadows can fly like limpid pools of mercury

And I had no time for that,

Your new gallery was opening,

A commissioned self-portrait

Of all the women we could become

 

Hanging in the ether

And I imagined my 4th grade teacher dressed as a French maid

Serving Sauvignon Blanc in plastic cups at your gala

And knew, knew I’d never survive on an empty-stomach.