III. The Sister

"Boy, oh boy did she forget underwear over
the period of a week. I mean, really."
Up and down the lamppost rolled the tears
of jealousy as the sister of the Veal Chapter
wove her story. Tales of urban justice
and empty friendship rolled from her eyes
like diamonds from a ski-lift as we
caught expressions of inverted hatred through
the reflections by her lip gloss. She had
it in for the scent of dandelion, as someone
had etched into her right calf as
a young child, "Teddy Roosevelt used it."

"Ya know how sometimes ya git this
thang stuck in your subconcious -- Yew
know.... this thang.... that just won't
git out 'til ya cook.... yea, cook...."

We loved her like a fishing trip, and
she prided herself on resembling a bunch of
grapes -- though perhaps somewhat selfishly.
We allowed her to speak from the groin,
because her heart had sunk to her knees,
and that was closer to her mouth, which
moved slow enough as it was.

The night ended painfully with
a faux pas on Danny's part. He asked
her if the chain dangling tensely from
her throat was pure brass or just
plain algae. She denied owning a
throat and resented the question.
We apologized, but the next day
realized how right she always was.

3/1/89

©Evan Hause

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