Twelve
It is midnight.
A ball drops.
Glasses clink.
Kazoos whistle.
We all kiss.
I hate New Year’s resolutions
but I want you in my bed.
I only swear
I do not want this life
to feel like one very long
hangover nap.
Sometimes I have to stifle the desire
to shake other women.
Even the tiniest most
Minuscule fucking ant hill
Of a thing feels like
A mountain of inconvenience
To a woman.
Watching them dance around
questions
answers
wants
needs
without calling them out on their bull shit
makes me wonder if they’d rather
bleed to death than
borrow a bandaid.
Then I remember the not asking is a symptom
of the fear we carry every hour.
Never knowing whether it is safe
to harbor even the simplest desire.
Look!
There is a termite
In my Hefeweisen!
He is the same size
as the tender pitfall
in your eyes.
A Leisure Stroll
The afternoon walk home
seemed so much better
than usual. Bullies were serving
time in detention, and Missy
Johnson was absent today.
The wispy white clouds
smeared across the “sky blue”
background reminded me
of cotton candy. Delightful!
