icecream legs

she tells me
that she's going
to new orleans
for a week at the
end of the year.
eat some jumbalya,
visit a wildlife
park and see
the heron. so she
says. sounds sketchy.
sounds like a man
might be involved
in this scenario
somewhere. she's
in the tub while
she's telling me
this story, or
half the story.
she's smoking cigarettes
with the window
open despite the
temperature being 20
degrees. she's got
an egg nog going
too, shaken with
a healthy dose
of jack daniels.
she tells me that
her legs are white
like vanilla
icecream, she
can't even see
the veins anymore.
the drink is getting
to her, but she
won't come clean
on the guy. she
tells me that she
feels decadent,
she feels like being
a bad girl, but
she says that it's
too late in the night,
and if she wasn't
so damn tired
from this hot water
and egg nog, she'd
be out on the street
looking to get into
trouble. see you
in church i tell
her. behave. do
you hear that, she
says, smoke rings.