When you kicked me out of the car
on our way to Scottsdale,
I watched as you pressed upon the ignition.
Peeling out in that crappy Honda,
blasting Pearl Jam,
but all I could focus on was the dust.
It was a cloud of burnt sienna,
a sprinkling of confetti to
celebrate the fact
I’d never see you again.
“Irreconcilable differences.” is what you’ll tell your friends.
But I prefer: “He was an asshole.”
Throw salted peanuts in my mouth
at the old gas station down the road.
Tempted by scratchers,
Sifting through bubblegum
I decide:
I want to live here amongst
the postcard turnstiles.
Hang me up and
wedge me in between
the beach and the canyon, please.
Aloha!
Greetings from Hell!
Thumb through all the places
I haven’t been.
I’m hoping your destination is the latter.
But I’m headed back home.
I pay ninety-nine cents—
buy one get one free!
and carry cards of Fresno and Vegas
in my warm, tender hands.
Arizona is the perfect place
for your cold, cactus heart.
Send me a postcard when you arrive.
I’d like to see the desert sun for myself.
Brigid O’Brien is a rising senior at DePaul University, studying English. Her work has been previously featured in Crook & Folly and Jake Magazine. When she’s not writing sappy poems, Brigid loves walking dogs, attempting crossword puzzles, and people-watching on the L.