My Cardboard Balcony

Pick-Me-Up by Belinda Roddie The words are super sweet, and the delivery is just seamless - like a road with no speed bumps, tickled by the tires of a freshly realigned truck, carrying your suitcases to my house after three months together. But the aftertaste of each phrase is bitter, and it's hard to tamp down with either water or whiskey. The burn isn't enough to reduce your cues to cinders. You declare something that's bait for the audience - but they all feel empty in their pews once you walk away.

It's been a while since Papa called me; I haven't slept in days. I've wept out all my sins, and now I'm lost with Mary Jane. My papa's quite the bastard; he lashed me pretty good when I was still but half your age, living in this neighborhood. Papa has a cellphone, but it doesn't work too well. Is the reception bad, or is he just ignoring me? Time will tell.