POETRY BY ERICA CAMERON

How to watch a friend die

Grab a cup of tea

and sit on the porch, notice rust

spreading on your bike,

kids playing with bubbles across the

street. How elaborate

this game has become; a

machine manufacturing bubbles, a dim roar

as kids dance in giant bubble glory.

Make a mental note to buy some WD-40.

Go on a date.

Hell, go on several dates

Lower your standards and your neckline.

Always in your neighbourhood, never his.

Let him pay. Drink more than you should.

Let him tell you your ass looks good

in those jeans. Let him tell you

you’re hot. Listen to his life story.

They want this and need this. Be a good listener.

Go to a park and make out with

boys past midnight. Let them

kiss your breasts and hold your

waist with deft hands. Let them walk you home.

The following morning, grab a cup of coffee

and sit on the porch. Call your friend and tell her you

made out down the street from where she lay and it was hot.

Tell her you followed her advice and she is right: it

really does just come down to tight jeans and listening.

Erica Cameron is a teacher and writer living way up in Toronto, Canada. She has been writing for many years and has published a graduate thesis poetry collection and several chapbooks. Her work has been published in literary journals such as Acta-Victoriana, Contemporary Verse II, and Canadian Literature. She formerly worked as the editor of York University's literary magazine. Her interests in horror and the macabre were prompted by the work of Shirley Jackson.