Do You Want to Go Out Friday Night?

by Sasha Westerfield

As the night descends on the city
so do we
joining the throngs
ready to be swallowed
and digested through hazy, dimly lit rooms
thump-thump, the music beats
too loud— my heart forced to pulse alongside
but for now, its call is ignored
for damp stalls crowded with bodies
as we stuff ourselves into shapes that resemble dresses
pulling on and off straps
plumping, preening, ripping, rubbing
wobbly fingers swipe on lipsticks; girls pass around glitter and smoke
spray there, we whisper, here’s a drink
the air smells of ritual
hair ties delivered to grateful hands
we take care of our own

in the dirty mirror I try to understand myself
squint my eyes through the scratches and graffiti
to pinch at my cheeks
the reflection warps, then reshapes
are you ready, she is perched on a yellowing sink
no
I almost say, let’s stay
I prefer the places in between