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By Misti Date: 2004 May 16 Comment on this Work [[2004.05.16.18.04.13087]] |
| I'm crying at the computer at work eating Milk Duds and drinking Dr. Pepper. My jeans are too tight. I'm on the rag. There is no makeup on my flawed freckled face. No liquid eyeliner to cry off. My hair is a dark nest. I don't know where you are and I am sad because of all the poems I've written that you've never read...all the email I've sent you, including poems by Dylan Thomas/Anne Sexton/Sylvia Plath/Gregory Corso/T.S. Eliot...to no reply. I'm heartbroken because of this morning, how you seemed not to care, how lately you seem to take my Good Mornings for granted. The sheet on the futon is dirty from over a weeks' worth of sex. Today when I get home I'll wash it. Last night I know it bothered you that I kept asking you to change your stained shirt before we went out. I know it bothered you that I got stressed out driving down the freeway, never remembering how to get there. I know it bothered you that I cussed. You walked ahead of me down the sidewalk. You wanted to be on time. I wanted to make a grand entrance in my red dress. I told you that people who don't wait for me can go fuck themselves. I was wearing my new black choker and my black Mary Janes. I looked as good as possible, considering my poverty. Then there were cars from the '50s and Buddy Holly type music pouring out of the Atomic Cantina. I grabbed you in ecstasy and said,"Baby! We've stepped into a time warp!" If you were my soul mate you would have been equally thrilled and you would not have looked at me like I was crazy. And when I jokingly said I wanted to have sex in the Airstream parked in front of the bank you would have said something more gallant than,"We just had sex." You would have made me look better on camera for the pilot episode. But you said,"You aren't going to get moody, are you?" You asked me if I wanted a drink. Twice. You didn't have to keep asking. You could have just read my mind and brought me a Long Island Ice Tea. But you will not tolerate my blue moods and red rages. You have been through it all before with other women who had you when you were a hedonist with long hair and black leather. So I play for you. I pretend. I try really hard to be fun. I try to shine. I hide things from you. I will hide more things from you. I will give less and expect less in return. I feel cheap and cheated. I keep thinking of that Merle Haggard song. If we make it to December, maybe I'll believe in miracles again. Right now there is a long, winding, hissing snake of a summer before us. I'm expecting at least one bite. |