Cigarettes, Darts, and Sunsets

When I come to see you
I have trash juice on my leg.
I worked all day.
You worked all night.
You’re nouveau-American—
mostly brown, a little white.
I got it all, girl.

You smoke in the garage,
into my hair.
The darts slip out
of my fingers,
wet with the dew of a sweating beer,
staking their tips just right
of the mark.

I’m trying so hard
not to talk about my problems.
You know what I mean.

I always hit the bullseye
on my first or second try.
Then never again.
It’s not because I get drunker
or sadder.
I do the same thing when I’m bowling.
I make good first impressions.
You know the rest.

You’re blue-eyed, black-haired,
and insisting that I’ll be okay
through little train-puffing lips.
I don’t want to be.
It means starting over.
It means first blushes
so damn sunset red,
they burn the retina
so that he cannot see
my night unfold,
my stars come out.

Stephanie Macias is a writer, artist, and musician living in Austin, TX. She has toured all over the United States under the moniker Little Brave and has released five records, as well as created artwork for many albums and concert posters. She writes poetry and fiction daily.