My Friend, Wendy

By Morgan Lynn

Few can attest to your wonder,

To the unawaken-

The inexperienced-

You're a plain surface.

A mere white paper bag.

Desperately lost, in the

backseat of a teenage car.

Flame haired girl peering out-

Grease stains splattered on her freckled cheeks.

Year old food rots beneath.

What have you seen, little girl?

Through the black and white ink,

You have never even blinked.

Even as Panera cups rolled too a fro,

All the RAW tips that have smacked you in the face

And you begged as us five

As we Threw away all the other waste

Seemingly missing a young face

As the hoard of fluffed winter coats

And hot pink bras lay a cover

She's sat through girly blabber

Suffocating under smoked flower

gifted by cracked male figures

And black dreadlocks

Ex heroin addicts

And highland fall’s hound dog eyes

we all know its calm demeanor was a disguise.

A butcher knife in his cushion

Free highs, because he was pushing

What else has she seen?

Well look at the time there's been,

Countless nights of over the phone fights

Racing to get back to town

An hour away with the boys we found

“Nyack! We are almost there”

My father telling me to be aware

Screaming through the phone

In that raspy rattling tone

Don't call the cops,

We will stop...

How religious were we,

That we had no care where we would be.