Flu Shot

I try not to look at the woman
walking towards me but her skirt
is no bigger than a bandage and
her heels are so high she might need
an oxygen tank rather than the suitcase
on wheels she pulls behind her.
I just hope the two assholes she
is walking next to aren’t with her.
The guy on her right is in a suit
and wears a toupee that looks
like a black squirrel fell off a tree,
landed on his head and didn’t

survive the fall. He’s talking to the guy
 next to him with hair plugs resembling the hair
 on the head of Chatty Cathy the doll
 my sister dragged everywhere when she
 was a kid. Maybe I’m just pissed off
 my arm is aching. I only left
 the doctor’s office ten minutes ago
 after getting a flu shot. I hate needles
 and this one looked like the Empire
 State Building; when he injected it
 I could feel at least seventy floors
 enter my arm. No wonder it feels so heavy.
 Then for some reason discovering
 there was a couple of hundred bucks
 in my bank account when I thought
 it empty; seeing a Hopper canvas
 for the first time or hearing
 the Clifford Brown with Strings
 CD is how I felt seeing the girl
 with the bandage end up standing next to me.
 Even her taking out a cigarette as we
 waited for the light to change couldn’t
 diminish the moment. Of course
 I didn’t notice how the smoke slid
 out of her mouth or the way it
 sounded rubbing up against a breeze,
 perhaps the way that skirt of hers
 might, slowly sliding down her legs.

Editor’s Note: In the printed edition, the line “next to him with hair plugs resembling the hair” appeared indented, which was our error. Here it is correct.