PUNK PROSE: Where Would I Pin the Badge by Maureen O'Leary

 The flower behind my ear is oleander picked from the side of the highway and the sap drips down my neck to the softness where I dream of him kissing me, his lips flecked with from his unfiltered cigarettes. I would roll his cigs. I would lick the paper. He’s the type who would have worn a sheriff badge back in frontier days except now he hardly ever wears a shirt over his Levi’s so where would the pin go but into his chest? Where would the pin go but into the hard muscle, into the softness. 


-Maureen O'Leary 

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