Electric Out at the Fenway dance clubs, late 90s Spice Girls playing probably we were just college girls in pixie cuts plastic butterfly barrettes clinging on for dear life. Upstairs in the fog machine, C&C Music Factory, a Southie electrician around my age found me. We danced around the floor a bit, had drinks, and when the club closed there were three of us, he asked if he could grab a ride in our cab, my friend got out first. And I told him he couldn’t spend the night. And then that he had to sleep on the floor. And then that he had to fix our ceiling fan. It was August after all and the thing wouldn’t spin outside of my head. And he asked for my tools. And he stood on a chair, until the dust of June and July began to whir. And screw it, the dude actually fixed it. And he was nowhere near Southie. And he had so much electricity.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Katie Kemple (she/her) is a poet based in Southern California. You can find more of her poems at The Citron Review, Rattle, and Rust + Moth.
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