Orange on the Nail

A new poem

by Natalie Shapero
Whatever is said to mate for life, doesn’t. Science once was awful 
at telling birds apart, took any speckled hen in the nest 
for the same one every time. Now we know more. 
		                                                                          See the shop 
where the model girls are ugly. This only happens at one store, 

and every time I’m there they offer me work. I say I work already,
and they say where, as though I’ll soon be stolen. The fitting attendant 
is angry in sandals, kicking her toes. 
		                                                Look at this color, it’s wrong. 
It’s peach in the bottle, she says. Peach in the bottle, orange on the nail. 

We hope you enjoy this excerpt.

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Natalie Shapero’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Conduit, the Kenyon Review, Poetry, Smartish Pace, and elsewhere. She lives in Chicago.

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