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In This Issue

• loving miss maple
• iTouch [Myself]
• Babies Compete for Brangelina's Affection
• Toshing It Around with Daniel Tosh
• CCSC Proposes Species-Neutral Housing
• "Frozen" Director Warms Up to The Fed
• The Belgian Corner
• Extension Emails: What I Wrote vs. What It Meant
• Ergonomic Sex Tips for the Female Engineer
• the morning after
• hipster in cc
• They Watch
• Letter From the Feditors
• The Staff of the Federalist

Emily Hoffman

I fumble for my Uggs
As you fumble for my name.
I fi nd one shoe.
Where is my retainer?

We are unsure, silent, still strangers.
Awkward air passes through us.
Pungent is a better word.
Your roommate passes wind.
I pass judgment.

My other boot is still hiding from me.
I am willing to go barefoot.
Not for love-but for the love of God,
Let me fi nd it soon.

You ask for my number,
Not for my name.
I ask for my bra.
It must be hiding with my shoe.

I uncover my belongings.
They are safely tucked
Beneath your Power Ranger boxers
And what looks like my retainer.

I remember slipping it on
After you passed out drunk.
Then I remember your body over mine,
And a tissue in my face.
Did you clean me off?
If so, thank you.
If not, why did you remove my retainer?

I exit the building, running.
Call me.