IN PICTURES, EVEN THE WALLPAPER GLOWS
I’ve been talking to this girl online—Jack calls her
Internet Crush Katie, but she’ll be Real Human Being Katie
soon enough, & that’ll fuck
everything right up.
In the smartphone pictures she sends me,
her breasts burn white, overexposed and chewable;
like a model in a Bacardi ad, she throws
her head back, perpetually laughing,
surrounded by girls, more girls, so many girls,
girls who are all
just my imaginary type, girls who flaunt
cool band t-shirts & expensive haircuts,
girls who might text me cute things:
let’s watch ice cubes melt
or let’s poke bugs with sticks together.
Girls who wouldn’t ask why the porn I watch
is so weird or call my mom when they haven’t heard
from me. I bet they wouldn’t still be friends with all my old friends
so I don’t get to see them. They would never remember
to tuck in the sheets.