the night I threw up in an Uber, the radio blasted mariachi music
over the expressway. I saw a sign for E Sex
Hotel and remembered banging
my head against yours so hard my nose bled
all over our naked bodies. the lit buildings blurred,
zooming so fast they were on fire. who pays
for all the fucking
the dividers after hours? my driver told me I’m nasty.
I told him I stain ivory walls with cum
once a month to blend in. I never swallow,
only letting the Mad Dog 20/20 bulge
until I have chipmunk cheeks. my hindsight is slimy
as I leave last night’s tampon in to soak
tonight’s two dollar margaritas. why
are my nails never clean? I called the number
on the bathroom stall and they
hung up on me. I still remember your cell,
reproducing inside me like the song
“867-5309”. the sign darting past screams There is Evidence
of God. does that poster baby
have a name? I imagine my sewn mouth
astral projected along the highway. I rolled the windows
down, but the technology didn’t recognize me.
Catalina Adragna is twenty-three years old and pursuing an MFA in poetry at Rutgers University, with an undergrad at Bennington College where she studied Poetry and Drama. She has previous publications in Silo Magazine. She is a Gemini and a pocha. Her Twitter: @catadragna.