Rabbit’s Foot

by hayley karbowski

An angora coat struts the streets attached to a body balancing on stiletto stilts. Jet black mascara sends her lashes to the sky, complementing the direction of her reconstructed nose. Money speaks nothing of broken backs, avoided cracks in sidewalks filled with dirt and people that fell through them.

She didn’t work hard, but she worked somereproduced entitlement.

Melvin sits against a right angle created by cement and skyscraper. He listens for pockets at eye level Jingling coins he could use for change or whiskey.

He used to write for the city newspaper until the voice in his head fractured and fucked bunny-like. Lacking legal tender, he now rubs his teeth with holy water in sleepless church restrooms and writes his prophecy on used napkins.

The woman of class passes as Melvin’s eyes roll down the curve of her calf. She stands above him without a glimpse, vertically emphasizing the space between.

Someone in his head tells him, better luck next time.

rabbits foot still attached

hopped away.