You wear a faded celtic cross around your neck
it rests where your heart should be
it may be an alcohol induced hallucination
but you look just like an angel to me

We utter plastic phrases
we’re perched on plastic chairs
you have some generous plastic appendages
I try not to stare

They may feel like water balloons
if I were to squeeze them tight
it may be the vodka or your neon halo
but you look just like an angel tonight

With every white russian we share
our bond seems to get just a little bit stronger
and every time I look at you
your hair seems to get just a little bit blonder

Your teeth are perfect pearly white
your eyes are either green or blue
if I finish this last vodka martini
I might pass out on you

So will you use your press-on nails
to carve your initials in my leg
heaven knows a week from now
I won’t even remember your name….

Plastic (a poem)
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