The Club

I notice you--no,
not you, especially--
but the fat wad of crisp new twenties
that you thrust absently
into the front pocket of your already-bulging
khaki cargo shorts.

I watch you turn guiltily
from the ATM, making your self-conscious
sojourn towards a clandestine corner,
changing chairs
until your view is unobstructed.

It's Thursday--payday, right?

My second song ends--heavy metal
crap, the DJ's idea of audio foreplay--
and I scoop up the crumpled
two-dollar bills--only four, Christ--
scattered randomly across the sleek stage
like castoff Kleenex.

I strut straight to your bottle-littered
table, six-inch Lucite heels clattering
against the mock marble.
I lean in close, give you a face full of silicone
and cheap perfume,
my apathy apparent to all
but you.

A proposition, a whispered promise;
I lead you by your clammy hand,
feeling the hard metal on your finger,
to a place shadowy, secluded.
An eternity later, you leave,
your load doubly lightened.

Does she know?
Know that your kids don't eat
so that mine can?

Skype Poetry 2

chestnut
sweet chestnut
that's yellow
chestnut
it's sweet

Skype Poetry

I wanna play scrabble
cuz you teach me how to spell
how to spell magic
m-a-g-i-k
yup!
majik
maji maji the fish
we couldn't find it yesterday in the market
they were all out
yes
apparently koreans are eating them a lot
not nice
yes
absolutely
not cool
we might start a war again
sea squirt war
like opium war
all wars are lame
only the sea squirt ones
are worth fighting for
lots of squirting
yes
and I dunno how to eat trout

Tree Frogs

Conclusion


The unusually warm temperatures that had persuaded her to leave the house without a jacket that morning had turned brisk, and she shivered as she passed through shady patches, the thick, leafy branches of elms and birches momentarily blotting out the waning sun. She could hear Abel's labored breathing, and when she surreptitiously stole a glance behind her, she saw that his face was crimson and slick with sweat. How can he be hot? she wondered, uneasily. I'm freezing.

As they neared a fork in the path, Abel cleared his throat and said nervously, "This is where De-they found her." He indicated a stand of trees slightly ahead and to the right. No name was necessary; she knew who he meant.

In the sylvan stillness, images long-forgotten flickered like old home movies across her mind's eye: warm September afternoon; giggling girls, in twos and threes, walking home from school; the junior high boys catching fly balls in the outfield; Bobbie Mercer's flaxen hair and bright vermillion sweater, so vivid in contrast to the verdant woods; Devin Lynch, smiling at her, hat tipped to one side, tapping the ground with a baseball bat--

"I told her that little girls shouldn't walk in the woods alone," Abel said, jerking Lisa from her reverie, "but she just laughed." He sounded almost...sad?

"He laughed, too."

She held her breath. He?

He laughed and told me, 'Leave her alone, Abel, she can walk here if she wants', then he told me I'd better go--'go fucking home, Abel'--or else he'd say I did it, that he saw me with her, and everyone would believe him."

Abel's distress was palpable; his words scared her, although she could not comprehend them. She quickened her pace, knowing that they were nearly at the edge of the woods, and she would soon be home. Mom had promised them pizza for dinner, and she was not going to miss that, even if she had to share with her stupid cousins.

The trees had begun to thin, and the chirping of the tree frogs had quieted. She could see the ball field in the distance. Behind her, Abel had grown strangely silent, and as they approached the end of the path, she heard his words echoed, although it was not he who spoke them.

"Go home, Abel." Devin smiled.