Costco Newsletter
︎︎︎ Melanie Wróblewska
︎ Dec 17, 2022
I haven’t taken a shower in a few days, and I smell like laundry detergent.
Thin cracked lips are smeared in dried pesto.
I’m fixing my hair looking at my webcam — my mirror is too dirty.
Getting out of bed seems to be impossible.
I’ll make a braid out of my thick fairylike hair
it will remind you of that crumbled challah
Pull them until I begin to cry.
My ruined hair tips look like your old paint brushes —
the cheap ones that come with watercolors.
Let’s pretend to be together,
laying on wet grass,
drinking boxed wine from Costco,
pissing on me in the bushes behind the Arena.
I always fall in poison ivy, my body aches.
Your cigarette breath makes me calm,
your Greek godlike hair
Can I sing you a song…?
Something romantic, you know I have a bad taste.
„Hands up baby hands up.
Give me your heart, give me give me.”
Why are your tattoos talking to me? I want to start a revolution.
With whom shall I begin this conversation? I’ll begin with your left arm.
Let’s ban potato salads. Yes, that seems like a great idea.
The naked lady replies: “Fuck off”
Have I drunk too much? Is it time to get into politics?
Your other tattoos are telling me the same things.
“Cherish today, not your past.”
I stare at you sleeping and take a last sip of wine.
My Liebe! My cupid. I whisper goodnight to your drunken body.
I shed a tear, untie my braids and kiss your cheek.
Thin cracked lips are smeared in dried pesto.
I’m fixing my hair looking at my webcam — my mirror is too dirty.
Getting out of bed seems to be impossible.
I’ll make a braid out of my thick fairylike hair
it will remind you of that crumbled challah
Pull them until I begin to cry.
My ruined hair tips look like your old paint brushes —
the cheap ones that come with watercolors.
Let’s pretend to be together,
laying on wet grass,
drinking boxed wine from Costco,
pissing on me in the bushes behind the Arena.
I always fall in poison ivy, my body aches.
Your cigarette breath makes me calm,
your Greek godlike hair
Can I sing you a song…?
Something romantic, you know I have a bad taste.
„Hands up baby hands up.
Give me your heart, give me give me.”
Why are your tattoos talking to me? I want to start a revolution.
With whom shall I begin this conversation? I’ll begin with your left arm.
Let’s ban potato salads. Yes, that seems like a great idea.
The naked lady replies: “Fuck off”
Have I drunk too much? Is it time to get into politics?
Your other tattoos are telling me the same things.
“Cherish today, not your past.”
I stare at you sleeping and take a last sip of wine.
My Liebe! My cupid. I whisper goodnight to your drunken body.
I shed a tear, untie my braids and kiss your cheek.
Melanie Wróblewska is a writer and artist currently in Poland (b. Chicago).
Also by Melanie: This Cockroach Is Your You Babe