A Waste of Time and Fantasy
it's the way you pump the gas,
leaning into your car
it's the way gravity pulls
your gut down past your belt
and it doesn't matter
how much you suck it in
because it's still there
and it feels like your
belt is trying to choke
your stomach, trying
to deprive it of air
but nothing can kill your stomach.
and the next pump over,
a young girl, red two-door Pontiac,
she is a tight t-shirt and tits
and she's high-heeled sandals
and shorts so short that you
can see the bottom of her
ass cheeks and you know
you'll never have a chance
with her.
you go home.
your dinner is hissing and spitting in a skillet.
your wife is wearing pants and flat shoes
you suck in your gut,
and you already know
you don't have a chance
with your wife either.
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Birds of Beauty, Birds of Prey
you've been there before,
another closed door office with
white ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights
and it's just another loan
to consolidate the debt
that has been consolidated
so many times before
and this time you're too ashamed
to ask someone to watch the kids
so they crawl in your lap, in your wife's lap
and you and your wife stare at each other
while some young and vaguely
pretty loan officer leaves
you alone as she makes
photocopies of your life
this is it, your wife says,
after this we'll get it together,
we won't spend so much,
we'll make it through this
start saving, build a retirement fund
a college fund…
and you nod, somewhat dreamily
and you know it doesn't matter
because you and your wife
are the kind of people
that will never get it together
because there will always
be someone too powerful
to resist, there will always
be some mighty hand in your
pockets and it doesn't matter
how much you don't spend.
you'll always be broke, your
faces will always be weary with
resignation and debt
and you know, after all this
we should get some counseling,
your wife says,
credit counseling? you ask
no, marriage counseling,
why?
we have issues, your wife says, intimacy issues.
I don't have issues, you say, you have issues,
no, it's you, your wife says as your boys
start to bounce off the ceiling tiles
but you never want to kiss me, you say,
I love to kiss you, she says, but you always
want to shove your tongue down my throat
and that,
that's not intimacy
and then the loan officer opens the door
she's high heels and a short skirt
and a low cut blouse that enhances the
cleavage and you stare at that valley
and she has a look of forced regret on her face.
we can help you, she says,
but it has to be
at a higher interest rate so just sign here
and you're not surprised by the higher interest,
you and your wife sign away
and you stare at that cleavage wondering if
there will be anyone shoving their tongue
down that loan officer's throat.
Conversation Up and Down the Hill
she says that she's tired
of picking up the tiny
chunks of toilet paper
that fall out of your
ass and on to the bathroom floor.
you say it's because the toilet paper
is quilted, it gets caught in the hair
of the crack of your ass and
there's nothing you can do about it
except maybe not wipe your ass.
get the unquilted kind, you say.
no, she says, that feels like
sandpaper. you will just
have to pick up after yourself
because I'm not doing it anymore
and you know you won't
pick up after yourself
just as you know
the bits of toilet paper, somehow
will get picked up off the bathroom floor
the conversation continues
until later, after the kids are left
with the sitter and you and your
wife go out to dinner and there
is nothing to talk about and
your wife spends the silence
squeezing a slice of lemon
into a tall glass of ice water
and you spend the silence
draining a longneck
bottle of light and domestic beer.
David LaBounty's recent poems have appeared in Dogmatika, Zygote in my Coffee, Red Fez, Word Riot and other journals. His new novel, The Trinity, has generated very little interest. He lives in Royal Oak, Michigan. More info at his very boring blog at davidlabounty.blogspot.com .
Last update : 15-11-2007 20:39
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