A Wonderful Life!

a cockroach with

angel wings

dies in a dirty coffee mug

in the sink;

He’s smiling.

it’s a Christmas miracle

or suicide.

that was fun,

that was fun, she says, we

should do

that

more often.

what? I ask.

have fun? or have

sex?

and I walk out

of the room,

naked, to

flush

the condom

stuck to my

still-hard dick before

she has time to

say anything.

a few days

later, I get her answer:

neither.

and I lose my
first printing
copy
of James Dickey's
Deliverance.

Live in Central Park

I leave a party

once they put on a recording of some old Paul Simon,

walk home

and dial a few numbers

hoping, for some reason, to

put my foot in a

pile

of sentimental bullshit

with past lovers.

none of
them

pick
up:

what a relief.

One for the middle aged Ethiopian man who says I smoke too much

I forgive him:
who doesn’t smoke too much?
and he tips a dollar for

every cup of 

coffee he buys.

I just

wish that he didn’t
smoke

Parliament lights.

A Conversation Regarding Optimisim

afterward, he chews his finger nails and

she walks off. a little

while later, she comes

back with a window fan.

Blind Date

Her: don’t those rubber bands get stuck in your arm hair?

Him: no.

            Later, in a cab, somewhere on Girard--

Her: we’re not gonna do anything, okay? we’ll just see what happens. okay?

Him: okay.

And not much happens.

He wakes up naked and hungover in the a/m.

Awkward car ride home (she drives).

            Expectation—always a little bit more one-sided

Than he’d like.

Happy Hour, Local

I watch the bartender

take care of her side-work.

she fills

salt shakers,

pepper shakers, some

bottles of hot sauce.

she has great legs in a
pair of short black
shorts, so

I watch those, too, as she

walks down the bar

over to where I’m sitting.

now, the whole place

stinks like

malt vinegar

and I

say,

“sure”

when asked if

I’ll have

another.

I pretend she means

another look at all of that leg

but I take a sip off the top

of the beer just the

same.