The stickers lining her computer monitor say things like she would never let work interfere with her social life. They say Milk Shake, Piña Colada, Banana Boat, in pink novelty type to look like signs for the beach, like America in the 1950 when all three were sold as a special for 35 cents and served on a cardboard tray. When her waist was narrow. When she ate all three and dove into the water, not thinking about cramps in any serious way, but wondering what boy to let save her if she did. She may have hoped for this.
She foregoes her lunch break and instead gnashes the boiled egg between grey teeth
while clicking through her inbox. And when she says in those days, she danced better
with her shoes off, you imagine flecks of egg white too small to chew dancing with yolk mixing with saliva clinging to the inside of her upper lip and turning creamy, melting, lining her smile when she remembers the way her shoes never seemed to follow her home.
24/90, she dances better, a prose poem
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