Defenseless,
I sit
thinking about that extra ten pounds
I hadn't intended to gain.
Surreptisiously, I prod my tummy
like men sometimes scratch their balls.
I conclude that I will not be happy tonight.

The stale scent of cheap domestic beer
threatends to permeate my being
if I don't get out of here.
And what worth is 5 bucks a bottle
if my hair already smells of smoke
and passive agression.

And since your mother hasn't mentioned it, yet,
then the drinking must not be a problem.
She's always so critical.
You can see her now,
blue hair that matches the smoke haze
bobbing in and out of inappropriate conversations.
You kiss your mother with that mouth?

Somehow skin does not equal temptation,
as we have been led to believe,
even to a touch in the darkness
of which my eyes know nothing.
Those little girls move so fast,
so close, so recklessly,
but I think much faster.

07/13/2002

Posted on 07/13/2002
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