You would never know by looking at me
that I draw faces on bananas or write mysterious notes to my office supervisor
and leave them surreptitiously on his yogurt.
You wouldn't know that I name my pillows after former lovers
So that it makes me feel less awkward when I undress them in my sleep.
That I occasionally steal lipsticks from the drug store.
or compulsively list all fifty states alphabetically
in my head when I get nervous or pretend that the tops of
rotund popcorns are really the heads of people I dislike so that
I feel powerful when I bite them off.
Sometimes, in public bathrooms,
when my bladder is too shy to allow itself to pee,
I sing 'Waterfalls' by TLC to myself
and it works like a charm.
I give little thought to the prickly annoyances of everyday life;
utility bills are often used to soak up coffee spills,
inspection stickers left to expire.
And rational fears? I am not given to preoccupying myself
with the everyday use of sunscreen to delay melanoma
or a methodical yoga regimen to ward off inflexibility.
My terrors are of a slightly quirkier persuasion,
but I heed them with utmost regard, nonetheless.
'One day', I think, as I sniff an aging tupperware of leftovers
and put it back in the fridge behind the milk,
'I'm going to trip over my shoelace in the kitchen
while making an English muffin.
I'll slam my head against the counter top
and get the wind knocked out of me.
The impact will startle the dog,
whose anxious activity will signal the squirrels outside
that something's amiss/
Their skittery fuss will alarm the birds, and then
through some avian chain of command,
the finches will alert the hawks and they'll make their way
into my apartment somehow and eat my brains while I'm lying there,
unconscious on the floor,
holding my English muffin.
And...I didn't even get to eat it.
This is why people like me don't live to see old age.
So, it’s good to have secrets, to shut people out
of the trenches of my own undoing. Don’t come in here,
it’s a place of squalor and sin! I’m shutting the door now,
I don’t want your jello molds or casseroles.
I am the ambassador of my own private island
and all of you good-doing gluten free gurus,
gluttony for self-care and over-indulgence,
you wouldn’t like me anyway,
so you’re not invited ashore.
Unless, ya know, you do like me,
Then you can come over if you want.
I have quiche.

08/06/2014

Posted on 08/06/2014
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer