Four Older Men
A man walks into the bar and sees only me
because I am there. He says Good enough but hesitates.
I tell him my age over dark liquor. There is a
shimmer in his moderately sunken eye when
the first 2 falls from my mouth.
A man walks into my iPhone and says I am perfect
based on 3 images. He expects more than I can
give so I lie about it all. Still responding, I misread
his intentions because he is not very good with an
iPhone. I come out of character eventually.
A man walks into my bedroom and dislikes all of
its color and the past-his-time singers on the walls.
He does not ask anything but for me to roll over
and become small. We force our skin together and I make all
the right noises. The lights are white, surrendered.
A man walks right into me and hits me square across
the face so I say thank you, sir. His experience trumps
mine so he brands my chest with a SOLD sticker and takes
me home. I am brighter than him so I stand in the corner
like a lamp. He only ever turns me off and I stay.
Visitation
Back home now
with the labradors still barking
through the screen door, making
enemies of the robins and the
street cat who sleeps by the
boxwoods on Martina Drive.
And there’s vodka with lime and
my throat is the last stop on
the Great (Southern) American Cities
tour and all the checked bags are
away in the attic. I want to howl,
but I’m flinching too hard.