8 November 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 3

A 60-Second Fairy Tale

by TASIA M. HANE

Don't be biased, but it's about

healing, leaping buildings in a single bound. I went

to Utah once, on the Greyhound bus, and stopped in

a yellow café that sold

keychains and blowjobs to truckers. There were

rocks under my feet then. I had sharp claws like daggers.

In the end, we keep ourselves chaste but less than

innocent. I'm tired of apples. Can't you see that I live

with men who spend their days and ways

about jewels, constantly groping for what is felt

in the night.

Second thought, Las Vegas weather.

I'm fourteen and can't get home without

encountering

the police, their asking if I'm a prostitute

because I'm walking

alone in the middle of the afternoon, obviously catering

to someone's schoolgirl fetish.

Listen here, you can't be poking your

finger into every pie,

even though they call it good news. We say, it changes

the dynamics of war. Late

today, some abandon all efforts to make weapons.

I can't stop thinking about disinfectants. It's flu season.