Becca Yenser


Today I was in a movie and wasn’t properly dressed for it. It was one of those movies that’s shot in a bad neighborhood, in someone’s crappy side yard. The chair I sat on had a Band-Aid stuck to it.

But that wasn’t the bad part. It was like everything had been purposely aged or mildewed or deformed, but in actuality, that was just the natural progression of things. The dog had three legs. The piano—inside—was next to a stained futon, and the sheet music was crispy.

The bad part was that I wanted to fuck the cameraman. I was supposed to be a shoulder, but every time he talked I wanted to turn, to see the lip of his cap, his fat lips, him deaf and beyond us in another world.

He continued to shoot my shoulder, my arm, and maybe my left hand. I think the guy I was staged to interview was intimidated by my breasts. They are only 36B.

After the shoot I went home with the cameraman. We took a nap under too many blankets. He had a fever and I stroked the back of his head. I had to go, to take my dog out. On the bike ride home, a few guys whistled at me. My dress was too low and my breasts were too big. It was getting dark—I didn’t know I was gonna be in a movie.


Becca Yenser is the author of TOO HIGH AND TOO BLUE IN NEW MEXICO (poetry, forthcoming, Dancing Girl Press). Her prose and poems appear in: Dostoyevsky Wannabe, The Nervous Breakdown, CHEAP POP, Paper Darts, Metazen, 1001 Editors, Fanzine, Eclectica Magazine, decomP, HOOT, Entropy, and Filter Literary Journal. She is a first-year MFA candidate in Fiction at Wichita State University, where she is an editor for Mikrokosmos Journal. You can read new writing at