mmmmdcccxx

Flat Chew Lance

     The way you look tonight
     is perishable, unphotographable, laughable.
                                           —John Ashbery

“Excuse me, officer,” said the driver’s license
to the trophy wife, “but might you have time
for a quick selfie?” The police officer seemed 

to puff up a bit at the query, and with an Aw, 

shucks! stance meekly came out with “Oh, 

now, well, you know, I appreciate the offer

and all, but I’m just not feeling myself today,
no, I’ll have to turn you down there, maybe
some other time.” The license was carefully
placed back into the appropriate pocket of
the wallet of the sweet man behind the
station wagon’s steering wheel without even
a Thank you, ma’am! The driver seemed a
bit embarrassed as he shifted into gear and
eased back on to the highway as the officer
stepped back to allow him to do so. Then
she went about sifting through her pockets,
careful not to disturb the holster, eventually
taking out a stick of Chapstick, which she then
uncapped, and with two swift slashes applied
a waxy layer to the top and then her bottom
lip in that practiced, not the least bit awkward,
verging on violent manner that folks from the
east side of the city were known to often do.
And then she pocketed the stick of balm, 

slowly walked back to the squad car 

to set about the business of what

ever might come next.