Day Five: Capricorn Season / by Jo Barchi

Laying in your bed
Phil collins loudly playing
This purple light you have turned on
To make it feel calmer
Does the opposite
You pass around the smallest bowl known to man
The bed isn’t really all that comfortable,
Or more accurately, it’s unmemorable.
She’s here, which is inexplicable.
She seems to be a friend of yours
It isn’t snowing but it just did
It’s midnight
You’re recording this thing,
She is contributing nothing.
Your bedroom is really warm
And you have a bidet,
Two new pieces of information

Change the color of the lights with a remote
Purple switches to a light green
You click away, putting on big headphones,
A professional
Seeing like you this is so new
Working so hard
Laughing in your
Adjusting your light blue jeans
With your cock
Just slightly visible

Now she’s complaining
About people who use the word
Who is going to tell her
About all the people dying in the world
Who is going to tell her
That her boyfriend would be annoyed that she
Is in his bedroom with us
Who is going to tell her
That i’m here to make you my boyfriend

You say you’re drunk after just one beer
How embarrassing
You have this whole set up
Foam padding
A professional mic
You seem to know what you’re doing
At least, where music is concerned
Your taste in cis poets seems awful
Do you like that blonde poet just because
You want to fuck her?
If so
I’m exhausted
And I really should be getting home.
Have fun with her
And her overalls

Happy belated birthday
I’ll drunk text you soon.

Jo Barchi is a writer from Rhode Island. They currently live in Chicago where they work in an ice cream shop. They are an editor at Ghost City Press. Their work has appeared in Shabby Dollhouse, and elsewhere.