Sheleen McElhinney
—
Neon Lasso
Under the cathedral ceiling of an Arby’s, my tailbone rooted into a cold, shellacked seat the same gray/brown as my roast beef sandwich, I am learning how to enjoy my own company. I haven’t brought a book, phone’s nestled in next to the tampons in my purse. The Horsey Sauce is strong, sending a tingling burn through my sinuses and across my scalp like a sudden brush fire. O, god of condiments, O, Kenny Rogers wooing me with “Through The Years,” O, pimpled teen with your ginger hair and dingy mop, what are we doing with our lives? Outside, cars, tractor trailers whiz down Street Road with purpose. Everyone in a hurry. I wish they’d all pull into this parking lot and come inside. I’d hang curly fries from the ceiling like spicy potato streamers. I’d unwrench the sign out front, that giant cowboy hat, and put it on my head, remove the neon lasso and whip it through the air, pull them all into my wide, lonely arms. Here, in this house of meats, our love could be the cure.
Sheleen McElhinney is a poet and baker who's work has appeared in various journals such as Bayou Magazine, Laurel Review, Free State Review, Lily Poetry Review, Slant, and elsewhere. She is the author of Every Little Vanishing, a Write Bloody book. She lives in Glenside, PA with her family.
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