Not-So-Still-Life with Damp Beer Tables

We were sitting with the mad girl
on New Year's Eve
or the day after
and there wasn't much
rhyme or reason to it.

She said:
"I got wrists
like anyone else, see?"
and she showed them to me.

There were five white worms
across one
and three
across the other.

She said:
"You're supposed to be a poet,
baby.
What do you think of those
poems?"

I said:
"Those are the saddest poems
I've ever read,"
and watched my buddy, bleak boy,
screwing her with his eyes.