She phones and talks of food,
music, the JOB
and the things she did
and is doing
and about later.
“Hey,” I say, “how about a kiss?”
She hesitates and makes the noises
over the phone.
I say, “Ya know, it should always
come back to the basics...
the kisses and hugging between us.”
She hesitates then says, “Yes, Sweetie.”
“I’ve been working on poems
all morning,” I say, “about you.”
“Well, good, bring them with you...
I’ll help you. I don’t care
who they are about,
me or whatever. Shower and
get down here. I’m with Rebecca
and we are cooking and dancing...
bring your work.”
“Oh,” I say, “you want me to be
a part of the ‘real’?”
“Yesyesyes,
take your time
but hurry.”
I rise slowly,
look around at the mess,
then start another poem,
then another...
and I am late again.
“Screw you,” she says. “Four hours
it took you to get here!”
(It was only two.)
She is angry long into the night.
