Martina R. Reisz Newberry
“Our citizens who have been enduring the
miseries of watering places
are straggling home.”
Wheeling Daily Intelligence, September 1877
Your timing is not off, not a bit. Wipe that guilt
off your face. The carnival you’ve come to
was in full swing before you got here and it will
go on long after you’ve offered your last
ticket to the carny who runs the Loop-O-Plane.
You’ve done nothing wrong.
You’re just another broken woman,
face down in a puddle of #17 L’Oreal
anti-aging, moisturizing, full coverage foundation.
Your mouth was bloodied from the fall but
your lips were beautifully tinted with
Urban Decay’s Lipsurgence “Exposed”
and it wasn’t a bad look for a woman of your years.
You were on your way to tranquility
via the ATM, on your way to a light-filled
experience that will take you back a few eons.
Nothing here to feel guilty about.
The atmosphere is relentless.
You fell on your Booty-Lifter clad bum.
It hurt a lot less than the kindness of
the stranger who helped you up.
You’re ok. You really are. Go home.
Swaddle yourself in all the things you use
to make your words, your years matter.