I ASK THE MAGIC EIGHT BALL IF GOD EXISTS ❋ Anna Mebel

and if I’ll kiss a boy at the party tonight.
I like asking unreliable entities
for the glorious second
between the question and the answer.
I used to blame this city
for the empty expanse of my bed,
but now I think I would be the same
anywhere. Maybe different hair,
or a different way of wearing eyeliner.
This city is not without mystery—
I bought a piece of cheese I didn’t remember
and didn’t eat until my roommate said
it couldn’t have been hers.
I ask the Magic Eight Ball
if I should quit smoking when I leave here
and it says, “Ask again later.”
I’m relieved. Another thing I like is considering
if I would be OK with dying in this moment.
More and more, I think it would save me
from not getting what I want most.
That’s no solution. Ask again later.
I want to live as badly
as any healthy stupid thing—
the stink bugs flying
through the slip in the door
or those darting lizards on every sidewalk
in the Florida town I’m from.