she smacks the neon pink duct tape on her arm

it glints in the fluorescent light

i can smell the chemical adhesive: 

dead giveaway of cheap, offbrand product

you are this tape and whomever you…—

she rips off the tape with a terrible TRRRR

i can see her white hair stuck to the glue: 

long white strands, forgotten peach fuzz

she slaps it back on her arm

each time you…

she repeats her ripping

the tape hangs half-off of her arm, having become less attractive

you are valuable—having reduced us to sexuality

having likened us to dollar store tape—

you need to treat yourselves as such

she tosses the tape into the trash

it lay among days-old fried food

& discarded pamphlets

like a used, bloody, useless bandaid