VIENNA SAUSAGES

Allison Graves
Vienna sausages come in a tiny blue can,
and inside there’s a liquid like gel,
that jiggles like breasts for a certain period
of time, until past the due date,
when you should never open
the can. Seriously, I don’t kid.
I don’t ever want a kid.

But everyone says stop kicking the can
down a road that’s open.
I just can’t find someone I gel
with, or someone I like to date,
who understands me. Period.

I remember the day I got my period,
and mom said, now you can have a kid!
I was eating a date
square and said, no can
do, and you handed me gel
for my hair, and said, keep options open!

The doctor pushed my legs apart. Please open.
I started talking about the Jurassic Period.
It was cold, the gel,
Do you want to see your kid?
I started laughing. I don’t know if I can.
August 20th is your due date.

You told me you didn’t want to date
and I said, thank you for being honest and open.
You acknowledged that you do what you can.
“I missed a period”
“I hope you’re kid-
ing, because none of this gel(s).”

You said, “I love your kid.”
“Thank you.” I handed you the wine to open.
You kissed me and said, “I have my period.”
“I love you, I can.”
Allison Graves received her BA in English Literature from Dalhousie University in 2014 and is now completing her MA in Creative Writing from Memorial, where she is working on a collection of short stories about non-places. She has just finished working at Drawn & Quarterly in Montreal, as a production and editorial intern. Her work has appeared in Crit, The Impressment Gang, The Sappy Times and The Overcast. She has curated exhibitions and projects for Eastern Edge Gallery, HOLD FAST Contemporary Art Festival and Riddle Fence Magazine. She is the current editor of Memorial’s creative journal, Paragon.