After Saturday Night

I spend the day in my room, in pitch black, with the door
locked. I feel so
rotten. My complexion like a white
piece of paper. With this, I decide
to run a pink powder in an anti-direction
from ear to nose.

On Monday morning, I get to school right on the nose.
Without a second to spare, I slip in through the closing door.
The teacher babbles on about so-and-so
being responsible for the move from black and white
to color television. I see Tom near the back and decide
not to go to my next class. I wink in his direction.

It’s Tuesday night and I’m pissed at Tom’s lack of errection.
He tells me that he’s seen two doctors but nobody knows
why the little thing won’t work. How naive. I run for the door
and think about how I shouldn’t be so
heartless. But I am. I jump into the white
snow to see if I can still feel. I can’t decide.

Wednesdays bound me to the east side
which means there’s nobody I know in any which direction.
I sit on my father’s kitchen table and rub my nose
anxiously. My eyes shift from the cat to the door
to the photo on the wall from when I was so
tiny, so new, just born and very white.

The library is quiet on Thursday. I look down at the white-
out that covers every other word I decided
wasn’t good enough. I follow the direction
of crumpled pieces of papers which lead to Sandy’s nose,
her head resting on the table across from me. She made it through the door
but that’s about it. I wish this wasn’t so.

Friday night I’m sitting at Sandy’s with Tom and I feel so
amazing. The crooked coffee table is covered in sparkling white
lines waiting to be ingested. Tom decides
to be the first. He lifts his head and I see the direct
effects bringing him to life. I lower my nose
to the heavenily white, eyes peering up to the door.