Sober Frat Party

PoetrySilly Summer
Written By Nicole Shepherd

A therapist trick
is to name your Thought Gremlin,
so you know it’s not you.

So I’m blaming Brett
for all the cans in my living room.
Brett, known sparkling-water fiend,
had a sober frat party.

Pizza box out,
TV blaring something I don’t even like —
the faint scent
and dying gasp
of the lime seltzer in the crushed can.

Brett, known insomniac,
tore through more seltzer,
a perfect ventriloquist
for everyone who couldn’t love me.
You never see him move his lips.

There should be a hotline for Brett.
He hazes me like
I asked for it.
Today it’s concrete on my limbs,
a mob boss who can’t finish the job.

I’m lazy, he says,
laughing while I shake the empty
dry shampoo.
He thinks burnout is sexy —
like late 90s heroin chic
in sweatpants instead of low-risers.
He leaves me to clean up.

Nicole Shepherd

Nicole Shepherd (she/her) is an Appalachian poet living in Chicago, writing at the intersection of survival, the body, and the quietly absurd. Her work has appeared in Maudlin House, Rust + Moth, Corporeal Lit, Orange Rose Literary Magazine, Free the Verse, Tulipwood Press’s Seedfall, and the anthology If You Ever: Poems Inspired by Kim Addonizio, among others. She has a particular fondness for strange metaphors, dark humor, and giving her anxiety the kind of name that would hit on you at a bar. Find her on Instagram @tenderpunkconfessional.

Next

How to Go Bowling