Mariel Fechik
the mice sing a different tune (maybe some deep house)
under the nauseous haze of a dance floor at midnight / you lose your
shoe / but you are not / cinderella / that bitch was outdated 50 years
ago / and you never liked disney / anyway / you smush your toes /
against rough grained wood and cry out / curse the bartender / in the
end you hobble / home / ash draining from your purse / lips still / pink /
under the nauseous haze of a dance floor at midnight / you lose your
shoe / but you are not / cinderella / that bitch was outdated 50 years
ago / and you never liked disney / anyway / you smush your toes /
against rough grained wood and cry out / curse the bartender / in the
end you hobble / home / ash draining from your purse / lips still / pink /
ACME, Inc.
One morning I am struck dumb,
lightning in my eyes,
birds flapping around my head
I am the coyote everyone mistakes
for a wolf, endangered only by
my inability to kill meaningfully
My cartoon paws skid along the
rims of canyons, keeping time
to the drone of buzzards
The west opens its cavernous
mouth and spills out what it
had for dinner last century -
bones, metal, and me.
One morning I am struck dumb,
lightning in my eyes,
birds flapping around my head
I am the coyote everyone mistakes
for a wolf, endangered only by
my inability to kill meaningfully
My cartoon paws skid along the
rims of canyons, keeping time
to the drone of buzzards
The west opens its cavernous
mouth and spills out what it
had for dinner last century -
bones, metal, and me.
Mariel Fechik is a musician and writer from Chicago. She works for an educational nonprofit and feels happiest in canyons. Her work has appeared in Black Napkin Press, The Rising Phoenix Review, The Stardust Gazette, and others.