Friday, 02 September 2005

• you hurled your worst
  across the table.

  it deflected off my chest
  as if i were wearing a shiny breastplate.
  i imagined hearing the tiny pings,
  little dents being made in the metal.

  a nearly empty mexican restaurant,
  a lone empty beer bottle,
  a soggy tostada
  set the scene.

  squinting, you made
  all the classic hurtful remarks.
  i struck the classic hurt pose,
  arms crossed, lip quivering.

  a wasted exercise.

  we both knew:
  the bill would come,
  the bill would be paid,
  the five miles home would be traversed in huffy silence.

  the dogs would be walked,
  the alarm would be set,
  the door would be closed,

  the light would be turned off.

   

  • 2:31 AM
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