November 2009
20 posts
You sweet tooth chocolate milk. And I am muddy waters. So run honey run. And maybe we’ll steep good tea.
We break up in laughter, whether from love or friendship, and go our separate ways to find out.
‘Do you baste your turkey with soy sauce?’ he asked the Asian girl, turning quiet as I stepped in. ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘we prefer teriyaki.’
You hear me walking. I struggle myself at the sound of your floorboards. I whisper things to you, letting walls muffle sound to secrets.
‘Sorry,’ she stepped back. ‘I thought he was alone!’ The father shrugged, leaving the crying boy again for the other side of the train.
The lady gave the busker Rubles; 800 to be exact. ‘You Imperialist bitch,’ he sang, and she replied, ‘You’re welcome.’
My hands and feet sweat caffeine bullets, the stress the trigger the work pulled.
He misheard a fart and made a face, which his date had mistook as interest.
All the pipes are singing heat, singing further the air warmed global by its own vicious cycle.
I met a fully dressed Santa telecommuting in the library, taking advantage of the free wifi to instant message silent Ho Ho Hos.
He never remembers to wear his MD badge, except for the ride home on the afternoon singles express.
The breakroom friends halved an apple and shared a coffee, in two cups, yawning through good morning turned afternoon.
The golden ratio of open window attained on an autumn night, with perfect breeze on sore feet under blankets, makes life worth it.
‘Kobe says the worst thing for you is pizza and soda.’ I looked down, the floor 5 feet away, bit into the slice and gulped the cola hard.
‘Wellesley,’ she said. ‘Where the girls become women.’ I nodded, adding, ‘And the women become men.’
What he said was, ‘Precancerous.’ All I heard was ‘Preexisting.’ Ballad of the uninsurable.
I didn’t shower after the haircut, leaving locked imprints in the water when I swam one lap, choking on them on the second.
The seven election volunteers, one for each language in my district, waited patiently outside the curtains until they heard the lever pull.
Seven cents short from the credit card minimum purchase, he grabs the nearest candy to fill penniless pockets deep.
I dreamed of a train wreck and conga lines on the beach, but all reality gave me were stained sheets.