It’s on. We’re meeting Saturday. Noon.
She’ll drive down.
The bath
The shave
The hair
The shirt
The pants
The fingers in the mirror and the
Car salesman smile
Though it’s not a date
That’s what your stupid ass does
Before you leave to meet a dude
Because it’s all about you, right?
She’s not there at 12:45
And you catch her on the phone
She’s crying
So you feel bad for staring in the mirror
And she’s out of her mind
So you tell her to feel better
And yes, it’s okay
We don’t have to meet again this week
Just like we didn’t have to meet
For the poetry reading
Or the drinks
Or the afternoon set aside she forgot
Because honestly
Being stood up is one thing
But a woman who can keep your attention
When so many are superficial car salesmen
Smiling in the mirror
Only constantly, not when no one is looking
You’ll, well, you’ll
“Listen, be well.”
And hang up.
Call back again
“Look,” you say, “I know when I say
Leave me the fuck alone
It’s the only time I’m passive aggressive
It really means
Please visit
I’m lonely
And hurting
But don’t have the courage to be weak.”
“It’s not,” She says.
Two and two are two, Occam’s Razor
It’s nothing you read into it
It’s not your guy
You are wrong
Logic succeeds, and romance fails
Never trust your gut
And you hang up feeling like
You’ve raped a nun
Killed her dog
Overshot the overpass
And are turning, turning, turning
As the motorcycle bursts into flames
So there is solace in poetry
And the boys will offer a beer, later
You begin to open up
Line after line and say
What is this miserable shit
And what does it accomplish
When she could be sitting there
As you play bad songs on the guitar
Because it’s all about you, right?
Because it’s not about her
Because she’s never there to tell you anything,
Change the course of the river?
No use in blame. More editing
You run your hands through your hair
And push breath through the fingers over your lips
And picture, for a moment, her breasts
Wonder what she looks like after this time
Will she be a hag withered by age
Or will she be the girl you always knew?
Stranger things have happened
After all
Your legs hurt after running
We’re all getting old, fool
You should drive up there
And make sure she’s all right
She’d like it. She needs it
No, she’d yell at you and
Hit you with a carton of soy milk
Before siccing the dog on you
To bite off what’s left of your nuts
You should drive up there
And just sit under that window
That’s fucking creepy
What the hell are you thinking
That’s stalker shit
No! Stalking is when you’re a freak
Who wants to fuck her stuffed bear
Love is normal, and stalking is only stalking
When you want to badger her into loving you
Or think that there’s a chance to get her into you
And dammit, you gave up on that
A year and a half ago
Dammit
The phone rings
And she wants you to come up
After all
She’s taken a nap and
Suddenly doesn’t feel so bad
BIPOLAR BITCH you scream
Hanging up the phone
Love your evil ass...
The shave
The hair
The shirt
The pants
The fingers in the mirror and the
Car salesman smile
Though it’s not a date
Legalistically you scold others
For speeding and cutting people off
But you
make
Your legs hurt from running
But you half jog to the meeting place
Only to realize
She’s not there
She said three to four
It’s three-thirty
You’ve been stood up, putz!
You wasted gas
She’s somewhere crying
Maybe she’s parked across the street
Staring at the window laughing at you
Not in that stalker kind of way
In that sniper kind of way
And you certainly don’t need coffee
You’re gonna break a rib if the
Heart doesn’t stop pounding
Hands in your pockets
You sit at the table
The tasty pink haired girl sits next to you
And she’s skinny and fake
But has decent breasts
But she’s also
Out of your range because
Girls who like art
And continue to her age
Like money, not art
So you just use her as a stalling tactic
Get up, call once
Sit down, stare in periphery
Covering up the FUCK YOU on your shirt
Get up, call again
Sit down, stare in periphery
Write a shit poem
Get up, call again
It’s been a half hour
Why have you not turned and left in anger
(Because we are better, men of patience
Men at forty learn to close doors silently
And when you love someone
You would take a broken glass didlo rectally
If it would dissuade them from doing same)
She’s there
Across the street paying a bill
And she’s almost done
You weren’t waiting, were you?
Of course I wasn’t waiting.
This isn’t all about me.
She arrives, and there’s that moment
The moment you always hide so well
Where you suck in the breath and
Don’t let her see how beautiful she is
Because she gets mad if anyone thinks
She’s anything but a normal girl
Other than the men she wants to fuck
You’ve learned that, and you care
You respond, it’s asinine, but whatever
Beats waiting for a phone call
At least she’s there
You write
And that is silent
And beautiful
That’s the best thing
When you both write together
It’s why
Even though she won’t fuck you
You stay around
She’s the first girl with something
To offer, really, beyond lunacy
And that goes for men, too
The first person, one might say
You’ve written fifteen poems in the last
Night
And the one you write
When you can look at her
Is the best of the month
That’s fucked up
She writes a poem about her boyfriend
Because she’s not really turned on
Not like you are
And you gotta realize that
That’s another one of those breaths
You take
Like it’s your last
Like your rib cage will burst
The rib cage hardens over years
But the heart may always burst forth
How’s that for a one-liner, like
Nice shoes, want to be friends?
You ask to see her new place
Because it’s been so long
You haven’t seen it
And the walk hurts your legs
And the conversation turns awkward
She is upset
Probably at what he did
But you’re here to take that anger
Emotional tampon
Or friend, pick your metaphor
But you don’t mind
You knew that going in
“I don’t want to fuck you,” she says.
In case you forgot.
“I know that.”
“I don’t want you to even touch me.
No flirting.”
“No flirting, eh? No flirting!
No flirting at all!
I’m flirting.”
“I don’t mean NO flirting.”
“My point. Was that flirting?”
“No.”
“I saw it as flirting.”
She sighs. She thinks you’re an idiot
Because you are.
In the apartment, you play with the dog
The dog is a reassurance
Because dogs love you
And when you’re touching a dog
You’re not tempted to touch her ass
And you think
That’s one of the reasons
She has a dog
Just as I have one
To eat burglars
Wise
She lays across you on the bed
“Don’t touch me.”
You don’t
She lays across you, putting her pelvis on yours
It’s comfortable
Not even sexual
Just great. Just one of those great things
She’s either playing with you
Or so unconscious of her own power
And because her head is turned
Your heart has time to burst from your chest
And the dog eats it before you can get up
Fucking dog
Good dog
Heartless, you turn her over and
Push her hands above her head
She’s either playing with you
Or unconscious of her own power
Because she lets it happen
But she’s so apathetic
It’s not a victory
But you’ll take it
Until the dog growls
And you have to get off
Or have it take your testicles too
You get up and she shoves to the side of the bed
Turns her back to you
You bastard
You bastard
You bastard
What the hell have you done?
It’s all about you, isn’t it?
No (you turn around and face the poet)
You fucking idiot
It’s all about her
Don’t you get it?
At the keyboard, I shrug
You touch her back
“Don’t touch me.”
“I gotta do something. Rub your feet?
I fix things. I gotta fix something.”
“There’s nothing to be fixed
You’re putting things there that
Aren’t there.”
Just then, a naked blonde walks through the room.
“Fine!” you say, “If that’s how it’s gotta be!”
“It is.”
You pull into the corner, pull your legs up
And feel sorry for yourself
She does too
For herself
It’s not all about you.
She gets up
And gives you the cue to leave
With her body
But she’s taking the dog
For a walk
And to be kind
She offers you along
At least, you think
You accept
Because you like the beach
But more
You like her
And it might be another six months
Before she will let you bother her
Again
At the beach, you lament
Women don’t want sex
Women want an ass
Women can’t just make out
Women don’t understand
You start to realize
And you say
That you hate women
“No shit!” she says.
No, not like that
More that you hated men
But you gave women
The benefit of the doubt
But so many women have
Stood you up, so many women
Have ignored your calls
And said they’d be somewhere
And said that they’d even fuck you
And it was all for attention
It was all a lie
“I don’t even know
What it is about you
You have great tits and a nice ass
But there are better
You are a poet
But I know others
And you won’t put out
That’s typically
The break point.”
She says, “I’m not what you want me to be.”
Occam’s Razor.
You say
“No, you are, even with your flaws
And that’s my fucking problem.”
She’s like the guy who survives
In
Doesn’t know what the fuck she wants
But you love her anyway
You can’t help it
And in the silent drive home
She states the obvious
“I’m not very good in relationships.
I fuck them up.”
I nod.
“I’ll give you that.
But you’re good in a lot of other ways.”
“Thank you.”
It’s like a rock from the overpass
When your heart comes back in the window
And sucks itself back into your chest
But she’s lost in thought
Or lament
And doesn’t notice
On the way up she says
Many horrible things
Harsh things
Things that should not be heard
By young ears or ears
Here for poetry
They would hurt any normal man
But you realize
For all the fluttering
She’s hardened your heart
And you say as much
You realize
In a kind of shock
It doesn’t bother you any more
You still love her
But she has no real power over you
You will bend hell to bring her fire
But it is for love, not power
It is for respect, not attention
For every proof, there is an exception
And here it is
It hurts
But it is a beautiful antithesis
The things she says
May not be true
They may not even be
Directed at you
Like when she said
She wasn’t very good in relationships
It wasn’t about you
It’s not about you
She’s thinking about him
Like you think about her
And you know that
Damned good and well, fool
And it’s last stop
To the road
A sad affair
Mainly
Don’t trust your gut
You idiot
You say to yourself
Again
In a moment of sheer brilliant honesty
You say something you’ve already said
But it means more
“Be safe. Take care of yourself, okay?
Don’t be sad? I care about you more than you know, okay?”
She stares blankly.
You look down, then ask if you can kiss her on the cheek.
She says yes.
So you do, and when you do, she leans away more
Afraid you’re going to kiss her on the mouth
Or try to
And you don’t
It’s honest
It’s innocent
Like everything you’ve ever felt for her
Like everything you’ve ever felt for you
That coexists with the desire to fuck her
As two separate entities
She will never really comprehend
You turn to leave, she grabs you, pulls you in
And kisses you full on the lips
The heart rips through your stomach and lands
Plop on the fabric of the empty seat
Mussing your coat
And as your lips open and close
And as you feel her large tongue
The world erupts in music
Perhaps she doesn’t hear it
And maybe her heart is clinical
But now, it’s all about you
Isn’t it?
And this is love
It lasts for approximately a week and a day
And when you break you realize
You’re in traffic
And blocking a road
This was a beautiful, magnificent thing
This is what a poet lives for
And you are blessed to have one more
Before you die
And the books start selling
“Goodbye, Neal,” she says softly
And the car moves
As I hold my coat
Into the distance
Maybe she’s thinking
She did that for you
And that’s it
And maybe it changes
Everything she said about
Not wanting you to touch her
Or flirt
Or maybe all that was changed
All along
And because it’s all about you
You’re too dumb to see that
So what’s your gut tell you, cowboy?
The shave
The hair
The shirt
The pants
The fingers in the mirror and the
Car salesman smile
Though it’s not a date
You shake your head
And by the time you hit the freeway
You’re crying a little bit
Not out of sadness
Hell
You could never see her again
That doesn’t change love
Nah. You’ve made an ass of your testosterone
Because you’ve seen something so beautiful
It could crack your legs like glass
Pull a heart into a bucket seat
And make a good man walk the ends of the Earth
And now it’s true
And now it’s good
And now it’s beautiful
Because it came from honesty
Even as malingering doubts tell you
She did it out of guilt
You wipe a cheek and realize
You don’t give a damn
You don’t give a solid damn
In fact, it’s hard to give a damn about anything right now
As it all recedes into the background
At 70 miles an hour
As you realize
This is one of the few days in your life
You will not regret
And you hope
You believe
You know
Somewhere
She feels the same
Or does she?