soup

brigade
the business world
is becoming
an unending brigade
of eligible businesswomen.

jane fonda
i’m running on the treadmill.
you’re walking next to me.
we’re watching two different televisions,
two different shows,
having two different conversations
about two different shows.
there’s something going on here,
as i sweat through.
if i stop running, i’ll fall backwards,
but why keep running in place?

off in the distance somewhere,
i can smell that perfume–
that one you don’t wear anymore,
and, thinking about it,
i start to realize that
i’d like to have an affair someday.
she’ll be wearing that exact same perfume,
dressed up nice enough,
but i won’t be– oh, i’m just “being myself.”
it’s something i’ll have to do
even if only to be able to wonder
whether or not,
under different circumstances,
my wife and my girlfriend
would get along.

and all the wild…
tommy garrison got away from it all:
the city, the traffic, the noise,
the banausic blah. everything.
where’s he now? i’m not sure.
i don’t think it even has a name.
but i’ve made it, i’m here,
and it’s just as he described it.
he has his porch and his redwoods,
there’s sunlight and shade,
and he’s LAYING on that porch–
“i’ve even started whittling,” he says,
gesturing, interrupting my train of thought. “see?”
“that’s not whittling,” i tell him.
“you went and found a stick
that already looked like something.”

bad luck
it splatters everywhere.
the pasta, the salad, the al mattone,
and that carefully selected bottle of red wine.
it goes like this:
this poor girl’s in her seat, devastated,
while this asshole waiter,
he just stands there, dumbfounded,
and i can’t help it.
i’m angrier than a thirteen year-old illiterate.

chinese food
i was having chinese food delivered.
i always do, have it delivered.
the doorbell’s ringing.
someone’s pushing it spastically or holding it down,
and now i’m rushing towards the door.

a young chinese woman’s standing there, soaking wet.
it’s pouring.
“i’m so sorry,” i assure her. “i honestly didn’t know it was raining.”
“can i have one of these egg rolls?” she asks. “i’m starving.”
“sure,” i say, “since i didn’t order them.”
i open the bag and look around.
“actually, this isn’t what i ordered at all.”
“we can split it,” she says.
“sure, why not? okay, why not.”

i invite her inside and go to the kitchen to set the table.
while she’s drying off, my dog comes in from the bedroom
and lays down on his back, staring up at me
or maybe something else.

jonesboro
debra’s been in jonesboro for almost two weeks
and isn’t sure she’s coming back.
we’re fighting on the phone.
“see, that goes against your whole point,” she says.
“i’m not trying to make a point,” i tell her. “i’m just thinking out loud.”

junior high
an office party.
co-workers are hooking up.
they’re groping like it’s brand new.
“at least we have tonight,” they say.
then wendy, recently promoted, ruins everything.
“what happens to us on monday?” she asks,
and a junior high dance it becomes.

dutch
she’s busting heads.
she’s breaking necks.
everything was fine until we
got separate checks.

woods
whatever happens,
no matter what’s going on in your life,
no matter what you dream about,
it’s unbelievably comforting to know
that every morning
you’re going to wake up with an erection.

supplies
jiggly arms woman just took scissors off bearded guy’s desk
and said to me, “don’t let him know i took these.”
i fill in the blank with a “i didn’t see anything.”
i think she’s joking– don’t we always, at first?
then, i begin to notice.
nobody’s joking about this.
it’s like there’s a war going on here,
and the lock on the supply cabinet is as useless as custard.
i scour his desk like a conquistador.
it’s so brutal.

everything is clearly labeled:
“property of bearded guy. DO NOT REMOVE.”
do not remove. who’d have the courage to?
she walks by again. her arms rumble.
i won’t tell a soul.

the signal
i’m touching my chin.
that’s supposed to be the signal.
it means help.
it means get me out of here.
it means i’m stuck in a bad conversation.
that i’m being tortured.
i’m still tapping,
which means you can’t see me
from wherever you are.
we’re a pyramid of cheerleaders,
ten people crammed into a phone booth,
and now you decide to take a break?
i touch furiously. she kisses me.
the signal’s been compromised.
abort.
abort.
ab–

bears
we’ve had our share of disruptions,
our share of vandals.
now there’s a bear loose in the neighborhood.
we say loose because
we do not know
what it is to be free.

latte
i’ve been getting coffee here for years.
he was always around, vigorously doing a crossword puzzle.
today, of all days, there’s an “in memory of” with his face on it
posted to the notice board.
we all loved him.
below his picture, it says,
“if you’d like to contact his family, please call ______.”
i probably will.
nothing like a conversation over coffee.

fitzgerald
and that’s how
i’ve come to the conclusion
that kennedy’s assassins
had to have been
disgruntled ex-girlfriends
of mine.

news
the news again.
dog saves master in river.
little boy drowns in pool.
where was his dog?

parking ticket
today i got a parking ticket, but i deserve better.
seriously, have you ever looked into it?
have you ever looked into my eyes and cried?
o meter maid, people are starving.
why won’t they eat?
i don’t know. maybe i do deserve this.
my heart is a car, left unattended in a loading zone,
and whatever’s in there i’m keeping.

up, up, up, up
the alarm rings.
i’m up. i’m up.
i’m up on top.
i’m up in your face.
i’m up on the ceiling, swinging from the rafters.
i’m up in the clouds. with the clouds. with the clouds.
i’m upstanding and i am young and i am a man!
i’m an uplifting high school sports film.
i’m a high school sports fan.
i’m an upbeat tune for all the young lovers out there
who just need an excuse to dance.
i’m up out of my seat and dancing!
i’m an uptown girl living in a– no.
i’m an uphill battle; now it’s up to me.
i’m as uppity as i’ll ever be.
i’m upton sinclair, hearing the sound of the pound on every page.
i’m up, and i can’t be put down.

i turn the alarm off.
it’s upsetting.
a pause, as i let my bed have me for breakfast.