She dropped the loaf of bread and then asked for a pricecheck. ‘But it’s been on the floor!’ she protested.

The designer picked the lock on my bathroom door just as masterfully as he broke the combination to my underpants.

I’ll be reading with several amazing Poets & Writers at Cave Canem Foundation on Monday March 1, 6:30 pm. http://j.mp/dwi9jt

She trained her baby well, to jump into puddles with a squeeze, and if the moment’s right, she’ll land herself a new, wet, daddy.

‘How dare you call yourself a porn theorist,’ she said, ‘when you’ve never even seen cake fart?’

‘We don’t got that color in stock,’ she repeated even after I pointed at the black lipstick.

‘You have to follow your heart,’ said the youngest of the lesbian triplets. ‘It led me to my husband.’

So, true, your bag is lost and so our sobriety. But at least the memory remains.

The smug look of certain people when I ask them to retrieve something labeled with my last name makes me wish it were even less phonetic.

‘This snow,’ she said. ‘It’s so wet it’s neither snow nor sleet. It’s—I don’t know—like water falling from the sky.’

The ladies circled the dryer once it hit the one minute mark, the largest claiming ownership while the others squawked in protest.

She felt flattered so many of us were vying for her attention, but we in the line had different thoughts regarding the payroll receptionist.

‘I didn’t know it’s her birthday too,’ she said, passing the signed card back. ‘In a week,’ he said, then added, ‘oh right. Happy birthday.’

Can’t ignore how it’s always standing room here. What a miserable elevator, our labor. We children of the equator.

There is some white substance melting outside my window. I call it promise.