Blinking is Ill-Advised
by Sarah A. O’Brien
That joke was not funny, and I am willing to bet
Your next one isn’t either.
I am terribly sure you do not like me,
But I was banking on that to begin with.
There are too many places to be right now
And deciding is like a plane deciding to swim.
Stranded in a labyrinth of self-creation,
Turned on only because I forgot to turn it off.
Intermission at a circus seems redundant,
These clowns discarding bills for bad beer.
Memories can only be born out of faded jeans,
Shared joints, and fields of tears in mid-July.
You’re sweet, but your smile is no crescent moon.
And I can handle their annual third-degree:
Why don’t you have a boyfriend?
Are you sure you aren’t a lesbian?
Something about the sun’s selfishness on sunless days
Almost makes family gatherings less intolerable.
Will you blame me for remembering to forget you?
You do not ignite my match with an ice-hot stare.
The tightrope walk over before I realized it begun.
I blinked once; I will not make that mistake again.
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Sarah A. O’Brien studies Creative Writing and Studio Art, with a concentration in cheap red wine. She will be an alumnus of Providence College come May 2015, although she denies this if asked. Her work has appeared in Snapping Twig, The Screech Owl, The Alembic, and Copley Hall of Art. She has been following her dreams for a while now, but has yet to receive a follow back: @fluent_SARAcasm.
