Rejection
Michael Estabrook
Walking the tracks with my
youngest daughter who professes
an awakening interest in boys. So I tell her
all about how when I
was her age my girlfriend dumped me.
(She wore those damn
fuzzy pink sweaters, her hands so warm
and moist, her lips so
incredibly sweet and tender.)
But anyway, I’m
telling Robin about this experience
of mine because I want her to know
that she may get dumped
one day but that it’s OK we all
get dumped one day I mean everybody
gets dumped at some time or
another, and I say to her,
“You’re not to worry about it,
do you hear? You’ll get over it. We all
get over it. Yes, all of us get over it.”
I kick a lump of coal out of my path.
“Yup we do, we all do
get over it, I mean, even I did.”
(She’s watching me out of the corners
of her eyes.) I smile
at her, as in my head
these vicious visions are swirling around,
around and around, peevish visions
of fuzzy pink sweaters, warm
moist hands, sweet tender lips.