très riches heures vii
in the month of forever the teachers went on strike and two girls carefully removed a bottle, just one, of a father’s 2-4 case of beer, ov or blue ribbon, something cheap and a little bit nasty.
better hope he doesn’t miss it (this was before they got more clever). the first sip would taste like basements, cool dark corners, whispers or secrets, it would taste like piss, or muddy creek water, it would taste like freedom and crime, what’s the difference, haha, it would taste like sin and maybe penance, old yeast and no forgiveness, haha, bitter enough to make you wince, oh excitement oh glamour, there on the bridge above the meltwater, once you’ve heard it you never forget it — go on then open it // do it i dare you // i triple dog dare you // i’ll do it // no me.
but no one brought a bottle opener: this was before twist offs so what else was there to do but smash it on the flat black rocks below — all that glitter, all that glass. two girls or a thousand in all those refractions, tiny and hopeless like the sun in late winter.