such is her finesse

she told me I was a lovely girl
and that her son was lonely.

I was twenty-two,
listening to an almost-widow
apologize for my empty apron.

they told me not to expect anything,
so I didn’t, and told her I’d be fine.

she told me her husband was happy
and that he couldn’t read letters.

So, he couldn’t read “tip,”
but again, it’s not such a faux pas
when we recall the doctor easing cotton out the ear.

recently, I’ve been collected
though I never learned to organize.

truthfully, I’ve never chosen to
as I grab my backpack before the day.

After five, I searched for news
while staring at a love letter rolled up straight
and taut, written in ballpoint ink without any sound of my name.

eyes on the collar, I pawed at my keys,
gaze reciprocated when I pulled out a maxi pad two weeks early.

My friend, Monday

IMG_2193Life is like black tea
A whirlwind in white routines.
With honey, my friend.
Albeit rancid in heat
and rooms lit with the workday.

IMG_2197Letterhead gone blank.
Salutations sleeping, shy.
Oh, Ferris, he schemes
with a class I can’t capture
as I reel with meetings’ blur.

IMG_2203I hate electrics,
and water – dreary sewage.
One clips, Two swallows
the urge to bury deeper,
reaching towards my nightstand.

IMG_2207Imbeciles will crowd
and waves of bad music scream
like I do at eight.
Fabrication, I will try.
You laugh as I leave your floor.

with sentimental longing
for simplicities
and movies I always miss
to often enjoy again.