by Dara-Lyn Shrager
I steal records. I have babysitting money.
It isn’t about what I can’t afford.
If I rub a neon yellow Wee Three bag
on my head, it makes my hair stand up.
I hang around the mall, throw pennies
in the fountain. At school, I pay Nancy Hull
to take Fonzi stickers from the teacher’s closet.
I stick them on my closet door. My mother
asks me where I get them and exactly when.
“Babysitting money,” I say to her face.
I mind The Funicellos: John, Jess, Elizabeth.
Once, the baby rolled from her changing table.
I am only a kid. Her naked body bounced up
a little from the carpet then landed a second time.
No words on her tongue, no teeth in her gums.
“Dirty girl”, someone says.
I am stealing lies, too much cash in the wrong
pair of hands, too much time on the clock.
DARA-LYN SHRAGER is a writer living in Princeton, NJ.
Her chapbook, The Boy From Egypt, was published by Finishing Line Press
in 2009. Her favorite color is orange.