—IS THAT SEAT TAKEN?

The Next One

Did he kiss you first?

What were his hands doing?

Were the lights dim or bright?

Did he notice one eye is bigger,

one tooth slightly longer?

Were there splotches?

Did your air catch, your chest flush,

freckles dancing?

How much time was allotted for staring?

What scents did he notice?

Did he ask, “Have you ever…?”

Did he ask, “What are you thinking?”

Did he say, “Oh my” and have to look away?

Were there any sighs?

Any tears, or just a goofy grin?

Did he trace curves and whorls,

find that tailbone bump?

Did he try to polish your nose?

Was there much laughter?

Any music playing?

What was the room doing?

What were you thinking then?

Did he kiss you first,

and if so,

what exactly did that mean

to you?

You Again

Oh morning,

not you again.

Have you even

brushed your teeth yet?

Showered or shaved?

Sure doesn’t look like it.

What are you trying to prove?

We already know

your stamina is impressive,

like that bludgeoned boxer

who keeps getting up off the matt.

But let me tell you again,

I don’t need you.

I don’t want you here.

Scram.

Buzz off.

Beat it.

Light someone’s else room up.

Let me lie here,

a comatose toad

rewinding the ceiling while

sparrow after sparrow

crashes into the glass

writing our names in

cursive smears

warning the next

unlikely tenants.

Glimmer

And isn’t that the best/worst way

to wound the one we love

or did love

or maybe still secretly love

our grip so much more steadfast now

the noose in our hands coarse and sweaty

the kicked-out chair clattering

like a cowbell over the hollow floor

as legs twitch and flail

feet thrusting at the confused air

a pair of stunned eyes bulging

yet unable to focus on anything

not a promise or memory

not even the glimmer of light

pushing so earnestly through

the bloody slits in the last

remaining wall?