Transfer Girl
Jon Aretakis

There are no accidents, just a whole bunch of misunderstandings.

They named her after a song
She traded her bright red hatchback
For a white Volvo
She wears white-framed sunglasses
And bell-bottoms
She can't help but look at her reflection
As she passes the freezer glass doors
She waddles around
Like a slender penguin
While her butt
Seems to hang off the back of her hips
Like soft smooth
Hamburger buns
She wears her hair up
I saw it fall
Unraveling
Pretty
But hurting
An insatiable desire to be honest
Rarely used
Pain scorned
Keeping
Herself imaginatively unaware
She likes the grass
Cigarettes and Ethanol
Pure Anxiety
Storming
Self-Conscious
Of her breasts
Untrusting of men
I gave her my therapist's phone number
Because she would not give me hers
She will never call
She will arrange one boob job
To find
Something missing
Deepening
The Removal of her mask
Instead
Chasing her images
She searches for a safe bar
She will never find
She searches the world
For something covered
Twisted and Knotted
Inside her own mind
She transferred in
And casually dropped my heart into the meat grinder
Circling
She travels around herself
I hope, one day, she discovers her true center