the short black arm of the clock points to the eight,
the number eight looks a lot like infinity,
infinity feels like sometime after eight
or vice versa
it's time to do another line

andrew stands with his back to me
he's reaching for the ice bucket,
running ice across his forehead,
i'm glancing at clocks, watching time,
the analog, the digital alarm, my wrist watch,
infinity cubed.

and this guy is a real square.

the worst part is knowing how he won't impress me,
the way i know how it'd be when i made it to hollywood
and i put my hands
into to impressed hands of marilyn monroe,
it's the same way i know that andrew
will not
impress me,
the way i wanted to measure up and find some gracious allegory
the way my fingers were smaller than hers,
the way i felt like her shadow
all the long knowing i'd end up in a shitty motel
sucking dicks for blow.

maybe it's just me, but
today the men haven't been much fun,
the drugs - kind of boring
last night's trick did me in
and today has been a total drag,
andrew has paid for me to watch the long arm
slide all the way around the clock
touching numbers like i want to be touched,
and now it's pointing at the 1
and the one is not what this guy is, at all. ever.

so i watch him undress,
you can tell he works with numbers all day
plays with his keyboard
more frequently than he plays with himself,
his hands are nice and smooth,
he's charming in a pocket protector kind of way,
he strips down to his chewbacca boxers
and trying no to smirk or laugh, trying not to be honest,
i ask him what he wants.

i should have expected his monologue,
a long story never made short,
much to any one's surprise, andrew
has never
been
with
a girl.
shock-ing. (I have my hand pressed under my chin – trying not to be rude)

but, he has spent the last three years
panting and moaning beneath some man named bob,
he's bob's bitch,
bob tops him,
they love each other,
it's cute.

so why are we here...?

andrew hands me a pair of bob's briefs,
andrew asks for a re-enactment of sorts,
he wants me to call him andy in a low voice

and suddenly he's sucking my toes,
and sucking my toes,
why am i here?
and sucking my toes,

being bob isn't really as fun as andy thinks.

he tells me to play with my balls,
which i don't have,
and he's right back sucking on my toes,

i've done worse, i deserve worse,
and so with eyes closed she convinces herself
it's a free pedicure,
she's learning to look on the bright side,

because there may be a savior after all,
maybe because there's still a chance that jesus loves her,
(as she grasps the crucifix on her neck; for guidance)
maybe because fate is for once on her side,
maybe because fairy tales do come true,
who knows why but for some god-sent reason
there is a knock at the door,

which is good,
because andrew just asked me to put a condom on the heel of my shoe
and... bang, bang, hallelujah, bang, BANG

the knock sends andrew into a frenzy,
a slight pause followed by a chaotic waltz,
"it's him," he gasps in a weak, pathetic whisper,
"it's who," i ask with a hint of bitch,
"bob. it's bob."

and andy has collected all of his clothes in his arms,
he scurries, like a failure, into the bathroom,
there are more knocks, a series of rapid knocks,
i turn to my mirror image and collect myself,
correct myself,

i ease the door open, like i'm in a scary movie,
now this was unexpected, i swear,
whore scouts honor,
my heart races rapidly at the sight
of impression-boy standing outside my motel door,
red-brief-boy standing before me,
clothed,
handsome,
statuesque,

he stares at me, i stare back, we stare,
they're not supposed to have this effect on me,
and the man without a name ushers me in to my own room,
his glasses come off and he gives me a gentle kiss
sex does not describe what happens next,
it isn't lust or love or even a cheap fuck,

doesn't he know – you don't ever kiss a whore.

at some point i slow him down,
only because i want a taste of what i have been feeling,
i stand him up, lower myself to my knees,
i open wide and he tastes amazing,

i gaze off to the side
and see the bathroom door is propped open
and there sits andrew with mouth wide in shock,
eyes filled with jealousy,

we're both filled with something,
and i'm betting andy won't be leaving me a tip.


07/23/2006

07/23/2006

Author's Note: by me and frankie sanchez - part of containers.

Posted on 07/23/2006
Copyright © 2010 Nicole Hyde