tell me about your drugs

by the time her idol takes the stage
she can barely lift her head.
in her best black leather whine
she begs her boyfriend
to take her home
but he won't leave
until after the encore.
she adjusts her hair
and glares at me.
thank god
she still has the wherewithall
to hate a curious stranger.
but when Robyn sings
to his Dark Princess
she straightens herself up enough
to stare into the lights
before she buries
her face in her hands
and sobs.

Paul David Mena
22 March, 1997
Somerville, MA

back to Paul's Poetry Page