weekender

6 month fight on pause

family trip upstate dissociation

kayak full of dads

2 bags 1 cup black tea

“you know you can thrive

without being sexual, right?” (feels like a trick question)

300 millies melatonin

sober speedball it works

if you work it

spotty wifi, a text comes through

william died

sigh delete his number, wonder

about the fentanyl summer

remember him fondly

even though you were a secret

come over

keep the william poem

it’s only a title

but

the start’s so good you stop

poppy seed wreath

everyone at the club has a trust fund

the promoter smells like a cologne insert from Star magazine, all paper

& toxic chemicals,

khakis at the bar screams over the Spotify set

theunintendedconsequencesofconsumerprotectionregulation isthatitcanleadtofinancialexclusion byincreasingthecostofservingtheconsumer, thehurdletomakingthatconsumerprofitableishigher

& you kind of agree.

but you thought this venue would serve

steak and tiramisu vibes

instead, the bathroom tissue

disintegrates in your fingers.

you thought the best part about khakis

was smelling yourself on his face,

but then he lent you a copy of The Economist

for the train ride home.

no cops in paradise

buried on the beach

encircled by barefoot bipeds, iPhones

in hand, whites in their eyes ravenous,

recording live,

showcasing

what 8 hours of fire does to a body.

in an underground pit,

roasted weight in an open casket

a delicacy

dead in a delicious casket,

banana tree leaves, rock salt, seasoning

burlap bags, chicken wire, 8” knife

in leather gloves the leader

initiates a ritual feast, the first slice

amber bottles clink,

an ash smell

like a birthday like a murder

either way,

a celebration of life.

Lily Lady is a writer from New York. Her work has most recently appeared in No, Dear Magazine, Bureau of Complaint and b l u s h. Lily's forthcoming book "quickie" will be published by dream boy book club in Spring 2022.