I’ve picked out the photo I want them to use if I’m abducted
by some wacked fuck in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
I’m wearing my Love Boat dress: the brown, shimmery
Bubble mini laughing, shaking it on the dance floor.
My hair is disco, though my roots are coming in. I feel sure somewhere,
some bitch watching the evening news will notice and criticize over her foie gras
or scrambled egg sandwich. Even though I will probably be lying in a ditch somewhere,
eyes and legs wide open, snow beginning to hide the crime I will have become.
A file some detective will set his coffee on for the next ten years.
But hopefully, someone will stop chewing and put down their fork long enough to say,
Doesn’t she look happy? What a pretty girl. You know,
she kind of looks like Audrey Hepburn. They should really try to find her.
fiction poetry "fact" photography