gag reflex
Virgil Hervey
It’s August of ’94.
The last thing either
Zap or Fish wants
is to feel guilty
about anything.
The concept is imbedded
in the nucleus
of Zap’s every cell.
Fish, on the other hand,
is a slow learner
He calls Zap from Chicago
to thank him
for letting him
have his wife
for the long weekend.
“It’s quite alright,”
Zap tells him.
“I wouldn’t let her go
with just anyone.
I wouldn’t let her go
with a dick-head.”
Fish feels strange,
upon hearing this.
He’s glad he’s not
a dick-head, but
he’s not sure
what Zap means.
***
It’s the eve
of the new year, 1995.
Fish calls Zap’s wife
long-distance.
She’s been spending
a quiet evening
at home with Zap
and her former lover.
She takes care
to reassure Fish,
when his voice betrays
his trepidation.
***
It is the morning
of a hot day
in the summer of 1997.
It’s been almost a year
since Fish told Zap’s wife
it was time for him
to get on with his life.
Fish is brushing his teeth.
The toothbrush wanders
too far to the back
of his tongue. This happens
every now and then.
But this time
he comes dangerously close
to vomitting. For some reason
he’s been thinking
about Zap and his wife,
still wondering what it means
to be a dick-head
and if he is one,
or if Zap thinks he is
after what happened
between him and his wife.
Toothpaste starts to run
from the corners of his mouth.
He rinses and spits.
