My Friend, Wendy
By Morgan Lynn
Few can attest to your wonder,
To the unawaken-
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.