when i was
a tiny girl
i owned
a
strawberry
shortcake
doll
she blew strawberry scented
kisses
& was a
well loved item to
the child who
perpetually
held the toy in her arms
the innocence
grew into a lovely suburban mess
who vomited
collegiate prep margaritas
i memorized the astrological sign
matching birth date of my fake id
somehow that was irrefutable proof
to the bald doorman
colleen was a pisces
as i held my friend’s red hair
out of a stream of
ill chosen
strawberry schnapps and jagermeister
over a smeared bar toilet
with a transvestite
wearing a strawberry shortcake t shirt
doing blow off the tank in the next stall
i had a personal definition of irony
sixteen was a formative year