Pissy and smoking a cigarette walking down Troy Avenue in my stomping boots.
Dead-broke shouting at the ATM on Lincoln Place, crushing my bare foot outside
The worst bank in all of Brooklyn. I am small.
You can find me too proud to ask for help
Clothes pooling at my feet in front of a near stranger. Dinners of white wine
All my writing shoved into a heavy manila envelope.
Hanging with the big dogs, thick whiskey and fish eyes
Dice game on a piece of cardboard, working all the time.
Look at me, losing my lighter to an old friend
Pissing between cars
Addicted to smoke and neon. I can talk trash with the best of them.
I am not afraid of death. I am not afraid of walking home at three in the morning.
Joanna Acevedo is a writer living and working in New York City. Her work includes ‘What Do You Know About One Night Stands’ (Seventh Wave Magazine), ‘Indianapolis’ (Rigorous Magazine) and ‘Pigeon Apocalypse’ (Flying Island Literary Journal).