Rat king

Scurries in unison across the pavement 

By drainage holes and fallen tickets

Ripped in the middle like a dress.

The bouncer takes a look at mine,

Then at the tendons in my neck

As rat whiskers brush my ankles.

He grabs my chin and pulls.

The kiss is quick enough, and

He sends me inside by the back

Of my head, tresses tangled up.

My hair

Brown dotted with pearl pins,

One fallen on the ground

And stolen by one of the rats.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath

And head inside, bathed in yellow light.

…

A. R. Tivadar is a hobby writer from Romania and a graduate of the University of Oradea. She has been published in Alien Buddha Press, Low Hanging Fruit, 100subtexts magazine, RIC Journal, Motus Audax Press, and 15 other online literary magazines.instagram: @a.r.tivadarlinktree: /ARTivadarneocities: artivadar.neocities.org