By Peter Anderson

The earth’s had one too many and can’t find her way home. Taxis aren’t stopping. She broke a heel in the club and keeps slipping off the parking meter she’s leaning against. She’s got our names all wrong and keeps insisting I’m an Aries. I tell her not according to that constellation. What? Look up there that’s Taurus. Aries has already been and gone. Fucking god of war, she mumbles, wait a minute what time is it? It’s late. She stops searching for her phone and looks at us like who are we? We keep standing there, me and my friends, waiting for her to crash to the sidewalk scattering change from her purse and ice from her drink but somehow she never does. Somehow she always manages to right herself at the last minute. And each time she does, she laughs and says that was close.

Peter Anderson is a poet, performer and playwright living in Vancouver, Canada. Recent work has appeared in Unbroken Journal, Sublunary Review and Better Than Starbucks. His plays are available online at the Canadian Play Outlet.

Art by Lesley C. Weston (Mixed Media)

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