implants

she's pondering
larger breasts.
my friend, amelia.
when she sees
the blonde
across the bar in
a bright red
dress, she decides
that she wants
cleavage, something
along those lines,
a little more curve
of skin for her
clothes to bend
and turn in a way,
which make men's heads
do likewise. like
they do for the cupcake
across the room, but
she isn't sure why
she feels this need,
and she worries
about the sensitivity
of certain portions
that are quite alive,
at least for now,
and she asks out loud,
do you cut, will it hurt,
do you inject, are
the bags slid in below,
or to the side,
under the muscle.
will they leak.
and by the second
glass of wine, she
laughs and gives
in, and says, no way.
i'm sorry, but if we
ever get that far,
this is all you get
and proceeds to stick
out her chin.