Romeo craves fifteen minutes of fame
I crush irony between my palms to make Technicolor
powder that you force down your throat and
swallow dry. It glows between your teeth in the night like
a blood-stained wolf smile. You call me a god, the
purest thing you have ever corrupted and you
beg me to spend one more hazy cicada midnight
in your dingy motel room with the low-hanging
Shakespearean light. Verona cuts your
tongue with whiskey, jars it between bitten
termite holes in the cupboard, an acrid exchange
for infamy. I leave before morning arrives.
Cathleen Weng is a high school senior from South Dakota. She has been awarded with a regional gold key in the Scholastic Arts & Writing Competition and an honorable mention in the Leonard L. Milberg Poetry Contest. Aside from writing, she reluctantly plays the violin and avidly consumes fantasy novels.