I call her number.
My best friend, Vicki, answers
with sex in her throat. Your husband is
busy. He can’t come to the phone.
They’ve been fucking since I was cast
in a Brecht play at the Hyperion theatre
And they weren’t.
I play Prostitute #1.
I speak my lines in Vicki’s voice.
Brecht says people remain what they are
even if their faces fall apart.
After my 3-week anniversary ‘gift;’
(her straw blonde hairs on my pillow) nothing
Ronnie may be having second thoughts; he
says marriage to a junkie is not
what it’s cracked up to be.
I am addicted to bad men, sex, and
opiates. I wrongly thought my husband was
addicted to me.
And Vicki, addicted only to breaking up
someone else’s marriage, tells herself
Ronnie deserves better, plans a white
refines the guest list in her head.