Pretend you are someone named Lillian. Get your hair up real big. Pout. Google “tips for
contouring your face.” Practice contouring your face. Find a lipstick called Sweet Peach
that forms a thick shellac over your lips. When you look in the mirror pretend The Librarian
is touching your neck, his thumbs brushing against your collarbone. Pout. Clothes are important.
Your breasts should appear high and formidable, but cuddly. He can tell you how his mother died
as he uses them as a pillow. Practice tracing the line of your cleavage with your finger. The curve
of your nail should reflect the light to bring attention to your assets. Research different smiles.
There are hundreds. Watch The Librarian work. Point your eyes towards an open book and
appear engrossed. Pout. Smile secretively at the pages. You contain multitudes. Suck on your
forefinger in contemplation. When The Librarian walks past you, act like you hate him. Cross
and uncross your legs. When your legs are crossed, dangle your shoe from your big toe; you
remember from an episode of The Cosby Show that men find this intriguing. Pretend that The
Librarian is clutching your hipbones; he will be able to tell, through the fabric of your skirt,
that you mean business. Pout.

Nicole Mason

Nicole Mason

Nicole Mason received her MA in Literature at Northern Michigan University and currently teaches composition and creative writing at Indiana University of South Bend. Her poems have appeared in The Chiron Review, Kerouac's Dog, and The Ramshackle Review.
Nicole Mason

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