Frivolities and Otherwise

Reflections of light bounce of the smudged window like fireworks. You pull down the shade, and I wonder what kind of girl pulls down the shade when she's flying at night. You take out your computer and blind me with the screen, and I guess it makes sense to block out one kind of light for another, to minimize the reflections. Still, nobody asked me for I am the lowly middle seat.

I judge you as you pay the whatever price for the no more than forty-eight or so minutes of Internet you'll be able to use in the air. I judge the man next to me for spending all that money on a little scotch. Can neither of you go one hour without these little frivolities? But perhaps I am too good at going without things, frivolities and otherwise, people and places and memories. And suddenly a drink and an email don't sound so bad.

And if I could look out the window what would I see? Cornfields and man-made lames and the lights of houses of people I will never know. An entire world spent going over and never through. Would I see anything I couldn't see from the discomfort of this middle seat, knees wedged up against my own book? And as I think that perhaps I have seen all I am meant to see the plane shakes, hard, then harder still, and I can only laugh at the timing.

Chemical Change

I've seen your God and I'll tell ya, it's one crazy way to make peace. Don't seem very efficient in my opinion. But that's probably why I wasn't made God. I was only made a measly man to question his every waking move. I've seen him and I've screamed in his face, I've said why why why why why. And does he answer? Silence is a kind of answer I suppose. I've seen your God and he is a slow burn. He takes some getting used to, and then it's much too late. And that's a chemical change, mind you, there's no going back, that's bread you can't unburn. But if that's the way you want it then that's the way you want it. You want your slow burn peace you can have it. I'll keep looking, over here, asking why.

My Bed, Your Bed

You collapse onto the bed, my bed, your bed for the weekend. I zip off your boots and take off your socks. I want to take off your belt, or loosen it, and I look around for something to hell, a fork or forceps. I settle for the very tips of my fingers, I make as little contact with the leather as possible. I think about all the times I've heard women and girls both real and scripted talk about the discomfort of bras and the sweet relief of their removal. I wonder if I should bother, attempt the impossible. Could I do it with the shirt on, would you wake up, does your passed out comfort really mean all that much to me. You turn over, moan, back to the ceiling, a small strip of skin breaking your pants from your shirt. It moves, up and down, and you're alive and so am I. So I set a glass of water on my nightstand, your nightstand, and curl up on the couch. It isn't big enough to hold me.

It's All Won

My rotted shadow attempts to meet you for an encounter. I produce nothing but serpents, words and ideas that slither in the garbage of love. I am the wreckage of a corpse I will never understand, dead yet living all at once, and you have the nerve to ask me how I am.

The Family

This is my daughter, Jocelayne. She's ranked in the top half of the top ten percent of the top half of all students the St. Vicarious School for Little Ladies. She gets her hair from my side of the family, once a year after report cards.

This is my son, Dollar Bill, which is short for Dollar William. If we want to go extra short we call him Penny and put him in a nice, short wig.

This is my dog, Brutus. Well, it was my dog Brutus. BRUTUS! ... Yep, was.

These are my fish. The trick is to keep a few slices of lemon in the tank, then it acts as an extra long marinade.

This is my ex. He still lives here and we're still married, but calling each other exes makes it so much hotter, don't you think?

One Night in Hollywood, III

"If you're not weird, you're weird."

"Guys, is any black guy Tracy Morgan?"

"Sorry for partying. Not."

"The same people who are intent on selling the American people crap are the same people who say we're a culture in decline. But that's capitalism. We're a functioning hypocrisy."

"Bronze that Tarzan up!"

"Could I get two vodka tonics and a Cincinnati Shuffle?"

"The reason I keep touching your breasts is because I just don't know."

"Ew, no, the bus is too real. I won't even Uber pool."

"It wasn't worth it. But it was worth something."

"I'm William Tell and you're William Shut-Your-Fucking-Mouth."

"Who you talking to? Who you talking to now? Oh, slippery slope..."

"I'll see you dead before I see you paid."

"I know I'm not supposed to wash my hair with bottled water but the danger is part of the appeal."

"I don't wear condoms that much since I have a low count... of partners."

"But at the same time imagine never seeing the color purple before in your life besides grapes."

"Yeah, but to dwarf and a dwarf are different things though."

"In the realm of eyes, I have bigger eyes than some people."

"He was the gayest kid. And now he's the gayest little boy."

"I enjoy a sensible farmers market."

"In some sense potatoes are potatoes are potatoes."

"The apple doesn't fall very far from the orange."

"I am with hangover all over me right now."

"I do a lot of construction so I work with a lot of Spanish people, ya know?"

"I feel like I have a knack for birdwatching. Anybody else feel that way?"

"Part of me thinks that I am the villain."

Direct Deposit

I take my time getting to you. I rush getting out the door, but once it's locked I slow down. The storm is over and the air is cool, it is a reprieve. The puddles soak through my shoes but I don't mind. Today was payday, direct deposit, I know I'm doing fine. I could get a car, flag a cab, but I decide to take the bus. Its post-storm A/C has always held a strange appeal for me, and it's holding onto it tonight. I don't know who these people are, on the bus so late, a strange combination of to works and from works and students and the destitute, and for a second I wonder what they think of me.

I could pay to get to you, but I don't. And if you're asleep by the time I arrive I suppose I'll have to finish this whiskey myself.