The Opium-Faced Girl

Orchids, the hairs rise my cold upper arms, bought a paperback copy of Story of O. Forgot my loose-leaf with all the poems in it at home in the hurry not to be late, not to be late, and ran to find a note on the door saying teacher ill, micro canceled.
I like the way the opium-faced girl
places away her sandals and hides her feet
up under her long black skirt, twitching
out her toes and retracting them again. They
are polished black, her mascara is black, and
I imagine her with the porcelain stem of a
hookah between her teeth. On her right wrist
is a bracelet of metal and black beads twisted
in several layers up her arm. On her left is
a watch.