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dinner out and you know what?
by Brynn Dizackninetwentyfive pm
had dinner with my parents and the
movie
sucked
you can't just kill someone; my throat clenched i watched the dirt fall in clups on the ducttaped bag my hands stuffed hardintomytechvestpockets but my arms were bare
i shivered
i should have brought a jacket.
how many hands have mine held? how many spoons, how many pens howmanyanythingatall or how many of vanessa's razors
how many times did i count them how many songs on a dar williams cd how many frost heaves between my house and the school haw many times have i driven the car alone and how many times was it legal
seventeenelevenfortyseven
and ten
not counting the time i never left the driveway.
howmanydayssinceemilyandiwerespeaking
i can't remember
howmanyminutes past twelve
three
why did i do it last time?
i can't remember
then wasn't it pointless?
what does it matter to you
how would it feel to be anyone but you?
why are you asking me?
theywerelaughingtheywerelaughingtheywerelaughingtheywerelaughingtheywerelaughing
i hardly feel at home there anymore
tina says, be reno. you are the diva reno. scott says i would have forgotten anyways and megan laughs. i dance. i try to dance. i pretend i can dance, i saw nathan atkinson once with jazz flats on press the bridges of his toes against the loft floor jutt his knee out and bend the top of his foot so it made a C shape
so i do that all the time at rehearsal
it makes me feel professional
like i should have a fucking énteerauge.
how many minutes since twelve-oh-three?
ten
nine
eight
sevensixfive
four three
t
w
one.03/18/2002 Posted on 03/18/2002
Copyright © 2024 Brynn Dizack
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