So I go to this reading down at the bookstore and afterwards meet a friend of a friend. She’s unlocking her bike and I notice a shiny decal on the crossbar half under a long sticker. Holy, I say. It’s the green Virgin of Guadalupe, #4 out of 10. I have Her too, along with #s 2, 5, and 9. She wants more, she says. She got this one in a gumball machine in the Sauk City Mexican grocery. That’s where I’ve been going for my Virgins, but it’s too late, things have changed up a bit. And I tell her about the conversion to Minions and Skulls and Tattoos of Biker Chicks. She prefers Virgins, I can tell, as Our Lady shines, there on her crossbar, sparkling. Our Lady. Our Lady of State Street. Our Lady of Biker Chicks. Our Lady, bless her ride home.
Our Lady of State Street
Jeanie Tomasko. n [g-knee tuh-mah-sco, origin: midwest] as in person, place or thing born and residing in Wisconsin. a: lover of autumn, dictionaries, lowercases, suitcases and horsing around. b: prone to brake for herons, coffee, novelty machines filled with shiny (M)adonnas, long periods of silence. c: makes a mean guacamole and occasionally enjoys dusting.