by Nicole Koch

I tug the zipper and
clasp my backless
Goodwill winner
with the crisscrossed straps,
pair it with gold hoops,
gold pumps, so when light hits,
I burn.
Bleeding like fifties jazz,
grooving, elbowing through
my empty bedroom,
trying to be Chet Baker in
Lana Del Rey days.
Old school girl,
empty yet unlike
blank screens starring back at me,
my reflection has depth,
rejecting laptops and TVs.
So much room,
nothing to do,
bored as a girl
waiting to be called
into womanhood.