I JUST WANT TO PUT THE STARS IN A BLENDER AND MAKE MYSELF A COSMIC MILKSHAKE,

I tell JD as he packs us a second bowl on the roof
of his house. Every Thursday and Sunday feels
the same, tongue scraping the peanut butter jar,
his flannel pajama bottoms tucked into my wool
socks. If I could do anything? I mumble into the mouth-
piece. JD always lights for me because I don’t want
to burn my fingers. Academy award for best supporting
actress. One time I brought tap shoes to our smoke
spot and his roommates yelled out the window until
we convinced them to join us. They called me Dick
Van Dyke for weeks. Everyone knows you don’t become
a leading lady without fucking yourself up a bit.
I climb back through the window knowing he’ll join
me in the middle of the night, already asleep on the shingles.

Kelsey Carmody Wort has poems in Nashville Review, Southeast Review, South Carolina Review, and elsewhere. She loves her home state of Wisconsin, pop music, and postcards with painted flowers. She holds an MFA from Purdue University and currently lives in New York City.