Saturday, June 13, 2009


in the winter
I hid out up here
in this attic room
the heater blasting
the snow outside
the wind tearing
through gray trees outside my window
trees that matched a gray sky
and a gray ground
cold as death in the morning
but now the AC cranks
and the leaves
are a terrific green
and the sky is blue
I lie on my futon
which really isn’t mine
just left behind
by a friend of a friend
like so many things I use
that are not mine
my phone rings
and it’s her
she’s ranting
something about her internet
not working
and the one at her work
not working
so she’s coming over
to pick up a hard copy of my story
“I want to read it now
and I don’t like waiting
to get what I want.
I’ll be over there in six minutes,”
she says, and hangs up
I jump from my futon
the one that is not really mine
and press PRINT on my computer
I pull on a pair of shorts
and don’t both with a shirt
I don’t have much to hide.
in six minutes
my phone rings again
and it’s her
she’s on my front steps
I bring down my story
open the door
and she’s standing there
tall and slim
and beautiful
beautifully insane
the sun is up high
behind her head
but there’s a squint in her eyes
I look at her face and think GODDAMN!
she pushes a large iced tea
into my free hand
and snatches my story
“Here. I got this for you.
I’m in a big rush,” she says
turning and stepping from the stoop
I close the door
climb the stairs
go back into my room
where the AC cranks
I slip back out of my shorts
lie down on the futon
which isn’t really mine
and think, “this cannot be love.”

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