Pushcart Nominee Jason Huskey

Jason's poem originally appeared in our 12th issue.


     Butterface

     She crosses the street with stilettos
     staccato on the wet asphalt, her special
     undergarments digging creases into her thighs
     premature to her genetic endowment. She stands at the
     six-and-nine intersect, adjusting her ta-tas for pa-pas
     and thirty-dollar blowjobs. Some johns pass her up
     as they pull away, tinking she's painted up like
     a cop hunting down cheating husbands and dying
     fools with no time for the formal, legal prostitution
     called romance; but she's no vice snatch. She's painted
     that way because God practiced a first-draft abstract
     on her canvas, and it got published anyway.


(This poem is copyright protected, all rights reserved, and may not be reproduced without the express written consent of the author.)