Ode to the Girls in VIP
Exceptionally pretty and exceptionally
bored, lacquered lips shut
tight and straight, body not moving
to the DJ’s pounding as you gaze dead-eyed
down at us on the floor. I can’t help
but wonder how many people you’ve fucked
as I stare at you clutching your flute
of $1000 champagne. Have you fucked
as many people as me? And who did you fuck
to get up there? Your body a mirror—flashing
lights glint off hair, clutches, shoes, earrings, bangles.
I think: maybe we’ve all fucked
the same number of people but you’ve fucked fewer
deadbeats— only people from good families
with good names, who answer your calls and send cars
and one day will put a ring on your finger—
the club lights glitter off that too—
every body you’ve chosen calculated choice. Maybe
that’s why I can’t stop staring, obsessing over you
as I dance, dodge elbows—because you know
how to aim your body at bullseyes, and I don’t—can’t
picture myself in your sky-high heels, tanned yoga legs
crossed firm. Instead, I clutch the Bud Light I paid
too much money for and go home with another body—
another boy who thinks I think too much.
Kate Wright received her BA and MA in English from Penn State. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing and Environment from Iowa State University. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Up the Staircase Quarterly, Rogue Agent, Ghost City Review, The Ear, Rust + Moth, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter @KateWrightPoet
© Kate Wright
Photo Credit: © Jari Hindström / Adobe Stock
