My Cardboard Balcony

I'm Trying To Work Here by Belinda Roddie Can you still write while I'm distracting you? Trading love letters with your neck and jaw, stamping red words into every divot in your collarbone - like a picture frame, I decorate you. I provide ornaments to your already pristine portrait. Can you still think while I'm distracting you? Look, the goosebumps rise to the occasion; like little soldiers, they report for duty, all long the drawn battle bases on your skin. Now I trace a fresh sketch on your cheeks. Playing connect-the-dots with my lips. You can still laugh while I'm distracting you. When I nuzzle you, you exude warmth and comfort despite the dew that lingered on your face many hours after morning. I peruse you, I stimulate you, I even push you to the limit - until the odd taste along your ear stops me, and I decide to cease and desist for now.

I tried everything to make the store look nice. I printed banners. I redid logos. I arranged all the products into nice and neat columns and rows. I wanted everything to be picturesque, quaint, distinguished...perfect, even. But a pristine aesthetic wasn't going to save the business from my sister. Not by a long shot. The day I renovated the place, she came in reeling drunk, almost blind, singing loudly to the first morning customers.