275/365: Lesbo Xanadu
"Do you know how to look like you're kissing?"
I thought she was asking me to kiss her,
so I walked up,
lips pursed like my grandmother
leaning in for a Thanksgiving peck.
"Stop being weird," she said.
"It's not really real kissing,"
and she faced the corner,
arms wrapped across her chest
to run her fingers up and down her sides.
Her fingernails were painted red.
"Does your boyfriend wear nail polish?
Because you look like a lesbo," I said.
"Let's pretend we're on roller skates,"
and I put on her mother's Xanadu record.
We shuffled in long strides around the living room
singing "A million lights are dancing
And there you are, a shooting star."
We were perfect blondes laughing behind wax lips
letting the rug burn our heels.