10.01.2012

Saucy

He's really got no clue.
He's somehow more wrong now
than he was four years ago.
And no, he isn't speaking in third person.

"Long time, no see," I say
through a cloud of grey smoke
more out of expectation
than disappoinment in the absence.
Sometimes my stoop feels like a portal
that brings me ghosts to ponder.
I blame it on the cigarettes.
They seem a likely source.

"Yeah. How goes it?"
he asks, neither caring
nor introducing me to the artsy cliche
dangling from his arm, panties itching to drop.

We always had a professional relationship.
We were two thieves without honor.
We only have one thing in common.
He brings her up.
"So she moved all the way out there..."

"That she did," I echo.
It can go one of two ways from this fork.
True to spineless character
he takes the tine that reminds me
of why I was never a fan.

"She'll be back," he says
in that arrogant sneer
so perfectly matching
his pompous chest piece
which is practically throbbing
in anticipation of exposing itself
to this poor trend-setter
foolish enough to lay underneath it.

"You think so?" I ask
with smiling eyes
cool as a gunslinger's
sharp as a writer's
faster than he can outdraw.
It's unnecessary, but I follow
it up to drive my point home.
"I don't."

He flounders about on the sidewalk
for a moment, squeezes his latest's hand
and makes an excuse to slink away.
Finished with this farce, I grant him his easy out.

There's no such thing as coincidence.
We were meant to meet that afternoon
if only to remind me that some people
are too precious to be contained by a town
full of small-minded repeaters.

Somewhere, a few time zones away
a fairy gets her wings
and a happy hour cocktail.
It's a beautiful life indeed.
Amen, girl.

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