Fuck Yes Fuck No

Send the dessert cart, you shouted and how I loved
the look on the bartender's face that night you came.
A menu was placed before you-- sixteen dollars sex for sure
as soon as I clicked the locks shut-- twelve coins a kiss, free
every lash, every finger, every hangnail, ash-- but first,
the cake and booze and oil, our remains sap lapsed bones,
drugs or was it all the dress I wore or was it the long time
you took to get there? You slowed hours; I made friends, told
off a few; I haunted every house I've been through:
yours I wanted to stay in most, its helpless vacancy cut
with ten days paid holiday. Fuck yes fuck no, that night
I know as something I once wrote, ate, a fixed soundness
to your face, but your runaway hands, oh please wait


Alison Colgan lives, writes and works as a bookseller in Billings, Montana.