Autumn Frequinox by Vin Whitman

Your One Phone Call

I knew Autumn when she was a virgin,
A child star with all the lustre of
Of a Disney varmint

Overnight puberty alchemy
Left her soaked in bourbon tones
Tire swing pendulum delirium left her
Beholden to no one

Managers, agents, sponsors spat upon
Omniscient wardrobe consultant denounced
With one wooden finger indicting

Photographers intent to shoot
Winter’s oncoming ivory headlight blaze
In favor of her warp-slow deathspurt
Seedslot rotting into sticky sunless
Infamy

She bares all
“This is power” she says, flaunting nubs and crannies
Distinctive eggless face-nest
Waiting for the clicks of admiration
Brushed with air and graphic spatter

Instead there is Autumn on the rack
Forced through a filter of mouse’s bones
And fraudulent gloss

Vin Whitman Vin Whitman is a writer, editor and radio programmer living in Sarasota, Florida. He likes needles, spiders and public speaking. His work can be found or is forthcoming at Yellow Chair, Rasputin…

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