Three Poems by Georgia Bellas

Photo by Megan Stearns

NO ONE IS WATCHING US WATCH

 

The late-night drive-bys

Drunk in the backseat,

Your new boyfriend chauffeuring us

Fast food burgers in hand

As we coast, lights off,

By the ocean-front property

Of your crazy boss.

We duck down even though

The house is unlit and it’s 2 a.m.

No one is watching us watch.

I can smell the saltwater

In my bacon and BBQ sauce.

His wife was alive then

And his job intact

So we could make jokes

However cruel,

Swallow them down easily

With our side of fries.

We weren’t heartless,

Just not yet old

And full of heartbreak.

 


 

WE BOUGHT THE ONLY THING THEY WERE SELLING

 

Another time you served Big Macs on fine china

After swearing at your now-fiancé:

I want to go to effin Ups & Downs!

Take us to effin Ups & Downs!

He took you & me to the 24-hour

McDonalds drive-thru instead,

Where the only thing they were selling

Were Big Macs. We got the giggles,

Which lasted the whole ride back

To your apartment, where you insisted we not

Eat until the table was set.

You didn’t wake up til noon the next day.

I paged through magazines in your living room

As if I were waiting to see the dentist.

 

 

 

HAPPY HOUR WAS ANY HOUR

 

Remember two-day Black Dahlia hangovers? We winced

at the thought of them for months but never stopped

drinking. Happy hour was any hour not at work, any

hour drawing Venn diagrams on cocktail napkins,

circles defining Boys We Liked, the overlapping sphere

a tiny dot of shared interest. You preferred executive

smarm, I the penniless charmer; we agreed on one

bartender, maybe?

 

Remember the night at Shay’s that guy showed me his

just-outta-jail papers? I was wearing shades, already

drunk. It was summer and when my hand crept up his

thigh you pulled me away, brought me home. I may

have cursed you in the car before throwing up out

the passenger-side window.

 

Remember when our old boss called us the office lushes

to his childhood friend? They asked where to find

beer in the Square. You were embarrassed but I recited:

Growlers at J. Harvard’s, 7-Eleven in the back freezers

(just ask the cashier), Cardullo’s for the upscale and trendy.

Monday morning the conference room recycling spilled

over with their empty cans. A half-empty jug was left

in the tiny fridge but we didn’t drink it.

 

 

 

 

Georgia Bellas has poems published in PANK, Bop Dead City, and Bitterzoet Magazine and work forthcoming in WhiskeyPaper and a print anthology by Medusa’s Laugh Press. She lives and writes in Somerville, Massachusetts, where she also makes art, films & jewelry in her spare time. You can follow her teddy bear, host of the new internet radio show “Mr. Bear’s Violet Hour Saloon,” on Twitter @MrBearStumpy.

 

 

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