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Midlife Crisis September 7, 2014

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, Veteran Poets.
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Midlife Crisis

Remember the girl writhing in blood capsules in front of the Seventh Veil?” I say.
“Remember her? I lived with her for six months,” you say.
“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” the plaque on the Frolic Room door says.
You buy me a tequila sunrise without cash-your credit is good and the bartender wants to suck up to you now that money’s made you respectable. He’s conveniently forgotten the night he kicked you and your best friend in the alley with Hefty bags full of Budweiser cans. I ask you why you hate women so much. You say, “You should know. You’ve been one all your life.” You ask me why I dress like your androgynous twin, straight up and down in black leather. You recite my life back to me/ backwards/forwards/inside out. You see every inch of blood slide through my veins. You know where I bummed cigarette after cutting class. I know what you looked like in your freshman yearbook picture, sleepy-eyed from Quaaludes, a faint trickle of fuzz on your freckled chin. We lived on the same block for three years and never spoke to each other. An hour and three drinks ago, my ex-boyfriend introduced us.
“I’m glad you weren’t around for breakfasts at the Denny’s on Sunset with a frog-voiced DJ,” I say.
But you took orders from the same rust-specked man who tore my heart out through my vagina. The irony.
“I tried to slash my wrists with a toenail clipper once, just to do it,” I say. You point to a vicious cross embedded in your wrist (not the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.)
“I didn’t try. I did it. With a razor.”
My funny valentine with a “stay up all night drinkin'” voice.
What family tree sprouted this convoluted branch,
a redneck accent,
the counterpoint to your contemptuous intellect,
“Who are you mad at,” I ask.
“Bitches who bait me with stupid questions,” you say, and you’re not joking.
You swing your keys in front of eyes like a hypnotist’s pocket watch.
“You know where your first apartment was,”
“Yeah.”
“I live across the street. Third building from the park-ain’t that a coincidence?”
I’m still flesh and blood,
denying the shark’s teeth below the gangplank.
I can protect my body from disease,
but not my mind, not with this man.
Third building from the park-
“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”

Copyright 1990, 2005 Jade Blackmore

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