She comes behind me while

I’m sitting there at the banquet

and when I realize it’s her it’s over–

over for everybody and everything that’s not her.

the boring banquet, my unfortunate date,

all of it.

I get up, turn and face her,

and she’s dazzling as always, standing there

in that dramatic dress of many colors.

I say her name and she says mine —

the usual preliminaries and updates,

but I know more about her situation than I should

and ask her if I can possibly give her a lift home.

She says no, but hesitantly enough that

I know she actually wants one.

Come on, I say. You don’t want to take the bus.

Not at this hour. I put my arms around her.

Not in that dress.

She shrugs. It’s not about the dress, she says.

But I guess I would appreciate a ride.

Great, I say, wonderful, and slide my hands down to her ass,

like old times.

Don’t. She flinches.

Come on. I take her by the shoulders, holding her still,

staring dead in her eyes.

You know how I feel about you.

You know I would never, ever hurt you in any way.

I don’t know, she says, shutting her eyelids tight.

I don’t know that. Sometimes I just choose to believe it.

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
This entry was posted in art, Poetry, Poetry and Art, Woman and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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