Passed out til noon
She swigs Bloody Marys while applying
War paint with an unsteady hand.
Sunken, hungover, puffy eyes
Veiled by Visine.
Barely gets the red out.
But the sparkle is gone for good.
A counterfeit in coiffed curls and fake smirk.
A gussied up clotheshorse in brand name style.
Dressed to the nines to disguise DUI’s.
Living an artificial reality she deceives even herself.
Sipping on Crown, searching out imperfections in others.
Fabricating falsehoods while pretending frivolity.
Stirring up slanderous gossip with her silver spoon.
Tossed back with a shot of ad naseum
She makes Happy Hour an irony.
Donna J. Heatherly