chewing on tums,
he looks at me and opens his mouth to talk.
i see his tongue is filmed with a layer of chalky white
and i tune out the first three or so sentences he speaks.
i'm thinking about his tongue, getting lost in the under-bellied veins of it,
the shooting buds and prickled knobs and the length,
the red of it.

i remember that he's talking,
i tune in, as he says
"i didn't want you to find out this way."
he frowns.

and then i'm lost.
i don't know what he's said.
and i'm searching his eyes for some hint or clue
towards his intended direction,
but nothing.
he leans into me, puts his head on my shoulder
and we sit.

all of a sudden i see it clearly.
he's cheating.
or herpes.
gigolo.
he wants to be a woman.
i'm pregnant.
wait, no.

every possible outcome an excuse for him to leave,
to bust out, to bail on me.
and i hate him, stand up wringing my hands.

"is that all you have to say for yourself?"
accusingly, i give him my best dagger eyes
and he looks at me, questioning,
like he shouldn't have to explain himself further.

and then,
"i just can't eat your chicken."
he tilts his head, confused
the tums dissolving in his mouth
and burps.

i am the worst kind of idiot.

01/19/2008

Posted on 01/19/2008
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