..

01

​by Ray Ogar, 2001

​

she traveled the

shortest roads

like a lazy bike,

all clunk and thunk

shoes like boxes

hair like byzantine braids

or some other faux

demigod glamour

usually only affected

on the brittle chalk

runways of

fashion and drugs...

that is, she never

used but dealt

her wares like

glass appendages

trading them for

blunts and low cancer cigarettes.

tonight she threaded her way

along the tight asses of malls

and deep rifts of adult book stores.

selling wears.

“check the spelling on that,” she’ll say.

wears.

wear me.

leave me.

discard.

remove.

move on.

some guys peel her off like

color coded plastic wrap armor--

a few of her younger trades simply

try and tackle her from behind—

apparently they like the boxy, silicon wafers

she spits from her mouth after

much too long uploads on low-tech mainframes.

getting a new personality upgrade maybe

or a slight adjustment in the tight end.

perhaps a reassignment of some of the lipid

sacs surrounding her left breast (somehow this

is supposed to enhance her already ultra

desirable form?)

she stops the youngest kid from

lagging his tongue,

him trying to french some wafer from a

spot more titwrench than twat.

she slaps him away,

then nats of light buzz her,

the hoards must be logging on to her

current location,

she just settles into the commercial glow—

only a moment.

beat.

but soon she steps into a skin barber.

a lather gathers up her body.

but only after the rougher,

balding gentleman front

takes her weight,

her shoe size,

her length

and width.

and then the lather:

full and rich,

foaming from light acids and

dense deep cleansers.

she waits,

takes a smoke,

then steps out of her skin.

looks back,

a too wry smile and

snickers as she glances at an

exact duplicate of herself

crumble to the floor.

the gentleman barber takes

a small hand held vacuum and

quickly removes the several

trillion cell husk that waits near

his feet.

a tidy profit?

a new turn?

she takes two stacks of cash

and a light fuck in the back room.

three minutes later

and the skin barber even hands her an

extra stack of cash.

she didn’t know her shell and dna

were that popular.

now she steps into alley or side street.

her legs carry her off and

already she notices a preteen glam

girl exiting the shop’s front.

that younger girl’s skin now hidden thick

under a copy of her own.

translucent around the cheek

and thin around the waist.

another snicker

and she just moves lazily against

the bad choices others make

with their lives.

on to another street.

or another corner to trade.