I Sold My Birth Control Placebos as Ecstasy

In a vintage corset, Pam Anderson porn hair
unkempt, slept-in, only kale & vinegar
in my intestines, I sell a placebo row
to a gym boy. He pockets my light, bites
his finger, asks if that was me on Tinder,
can we plan for drinks? My tongue
writhes, but last thing I need tonight
is a migraine, so I cry cuffed. Earlier, my girls
& me primped, while Miley Cyrus swung behind us
on her wrecking ball, nude except the leather boots
I also had. Bella burned her hair, we swirled
incense and the smoke unfurled like strokes
of ink, spelled our names in vapor. I wish 
I was with her, I saw her last pinching the fat
under her arms as I kneeled to double-knot
her Converse. How’d I end up in some man’s 
sedan, pepper spray in my hand so pink 
I think Mattel made it? You owe me twenty
not a roofie, stupid, I dropped GPS 
to Bella, you can tell her I said I’ll die 
before your bare feet hang off my bed.

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Maria Hiers (she/her) is a poet from Tampa, Florida. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Poetry at the University of Houston.