Awake
Sleepy-eyed, she sat up and mumbled, “I dreamed you killed someone and stuffed them in the closet.”
He lit another cigarette. “Amazing what some smack can do to ease your mind.”
She looked from the tight ring of bruises on her breast to the white sunshine out the high window. He was tapping the syringe.
“Somebody warned me,” he said, “how disposing of a body can ruin your whole routine. Damn Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
Far away, she heard sirens, and the dog beginning to howl in the backyard. Looking at the closet, she almost let a whimper escape from her throat.
18 February 2006
03 February 2006
Finally, a poem...
DEAR FORUM:
Funny what some men sacrifice
out of sheer jealousy. Take my boyfriend.
It’s hard to find a man who will screw you
so thoroughly night after night. We’d a been fine
if the textile mill hadn’t closed. Though I didn’t want
to leave Hal, I thought my prospects
would be better in the city.
I didn’t know how right I was!
I found myself at the Uptown Lounge,
doing six shows a night. Things went great,
until some hometown boys showed up
one night, swaggering and drunk
on tequila. I caught Hal in the corner
of my eye and my g-string was wet
before I’d half stripped. But he didn’t take it
like I’d thought he would.
Funny thing is, he’d always liked me
to show off. First time we had sex
was after a party, with his cousin
still in the room. He put mirrors all over
his house. He even had me flashing
these titty rings he bought at passing truckers,
but when I jingled them his way
from the stage he just stared
like I was a leper. Then he got pouty
and bitter-looking, like some guy in a movie
who’s about to say, “Sorry, I mistook you
for somebody I used to know.”
He actually thought I’d quit.
I’m not sure what his problem was—
It’s a classy place: no neon sign outside
or disco ball over the stage, Swisher Sweets
for a dollar in the men’s room.
Since then I’ve pierced my tongue
and taken a girlfriend. Occasionally I blow
the manager, who’s hung like a bear.
At any rate, the tips are good; when I leave work
my purse is stuffed with bills.
Funny what some men sacrifice
out of sheer jealousy. Take my boyfriend.
It’s hard to find a man who will screw you
so thoroughly night after night. We’d a been fine
if the textile mill hadn’t closed. Though I didn’t want
to leave Hal, I thought my prospects
would be better in the city.
I didn’t know how right I was!
I found myself at the Uptown Lounge,
doing six shows a night. Things went great,
until some hometown boys showed up
one night, swaggering and drunk
on tequila. I caught Hal in the corner
of my eye and my g-string was wet
before I’d half stripped. But he didn’t take it
like I’d thought he would.
Funny thing is, he’d always liked me
to show off. First time we had sex
was after a party, with his cousin
still in the room. He put mirrors all over
his house. He even had me flashing
these titty rings he bought at passing truckers,
but when I jingled them his way
from the stage he just stared
like I was a leper. Then he got pouty
and bitter-looking, like some guy in a movie
who’s about to say, “Sorry, I mistook you
for somebody I used to know.”
He actually thought I’d quit.
I’m not sure what his problem was—
It’s a classy place: no neon sign outside
or disco ball over the stage, Swisher Sweets
for a dollar in the men’s room.
Since then I’ve pierced my tongue
and taken a girlfriend. Occasionally I blow
the manager, who’s hung like a bear.
At any rate, the tips are good; when I leave work
my purse is stuffed with bills.
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