By Meg Whelan
Our centime-sized table overfoams with pints
as Jade says you’re gay, right? and by the time
I blush and admit I think I like Alicia,
Jade is already talking tarot and by the time
I give up explaining Alicia’s toothy smile
and tweed vest, Jade’s tiger tattoo is roaring by the time
my clammy palms are clinking glasses I become
the girl who liked everybody’s earlobes by the time
she was nine but who learned to have boys
and then babies by the time by the time by the time
Meg Whelan (she/her) is a poet born and raised in Kentucky, USA. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Kentucky, where she taught undergraduate poetry and film courses. Her artistic practice integrates text, visual art, and movement as holistic modes of truth-telling. Her work has been supported by So to Speak, Sixfold, and The Kentucky Foundation for Women.