Old Vine Zin & Looming Questions

I don't mind just the sound of a 

fan oscillating across my bedroom,

or the windows pulling in a soft 

whoosh of cars nearby on the interstate.

I don't mind that it's Friday night

and I've drank three-quarters of 

the old vine zin without having 

shared it with anyone.

I don't mind, I guess, how clueless

I am beyond our cute dinners and 

steamy hours in bed. But then, maybe 

I do mind, if that's the peek of our 
crescendo, the high note falling flat.

I do mind feeling weird if I raise

the question, that looming question, 

and then waiting for something more 

than "What's the rush? Chillax."

I'm as chill as one gets, immobile often-

times, but shouldn't I want to know, pry, 

look inside his man-skull and find the 

tiniest sliver suggesting I'm more than 

just an ego stroke to his way with sexual 

prowess, his proven manly ability to 
cause a woman to moan and squirm 
in a way that keeps him fully content.

I mean, who am I to him anyway?

Musings of a Hotel Guest

It's just a room like any other

with towels shaped like elephants,

mini fridge and adequately stocked 

tiny bottles of toiletries, but I bring 

my own. Along with enough 

personal primping products to 

set up a salon in my room; I'm a 

small slave to creature comforts. 

My roommate's bed is empty 

tonight and I'm laughing at the 

irony. BF is in Israel and wouldn't

make it in time to spend the night.

We actually both laughed at that.

TV guide blue screen is a place-

holder while making a decision,

or perhaps it will be only the hum

of the AC and the screen for 

this evening's entertainment. 

Not sure I want hibachi, saying

"Thanks, I'll think about it. Got the 

room to myself." And she shook 

her head, knowing the luxury in that. 

The teenager's back home holding 

down the fort, and I'm thinking

she'll be wanting a raise soon.

The Families

They sat around, body odor and 

cat urine polluting any breathable 

oxygen left in the trailer.

You couldn't move one way or 

another without a definable trail,

floors carpeted with bottles, clothes, 

items that never made it

to the trash can, if there was one.

Another left food rotting on the stove

and needed it pointed out

as if it liquefying, somehow, 

did not set off her own screams.

The last house of the day 

wouldn't let us in but spoke through 

the small crack in the door, 

where ugly odors hit my nose 

like a police siren, and I untensed

as she came outside instead.

So we stood directly under the 

4 o'clock sun with the mom, and 

son who punches mailboxes 

and puts his fists not only through 

windows and walls but their whole world.

Waiting for a Hero

His lips were stronger than I 

imagined. His grip, firm

enough to calm my quivering.

Fingers delicately traveled 

the long edge of my back

and as limbs entwined 

I was so sure this was 

gonna be something.

I can't deny how funny

we are together, and how 

our Jewish roots bind us. 

He takes that tucked away 

part of me and invites it to play.

But how much fun do we have

before we embrace vulnerability

let it become a foundation

and maybe a serous one.

Sometimes it just doesn't come. 

I've dismissed my propensity

to form heroes, and instead, see 
emotionally wounded men 

have lost their vision of love.

How long do I wait 

before I know with certainty

there may be nothing more 

to wait for?

Blank Sheet

I asked him to look at me

let his eyes be the words

he couldn't say.

I asked him to take a walk 

let his easy stride be the 

words he couldn't say.

I asked him to kiss me

longer, softer

let his lips be the words 

he couldn't say. 

He mostly remained blank

like the sheet of paper

that would have looked 

beautiful with words

had they ever been there. 

"Work" on the House

It was adorable when she said

we're living at nana's until our

house is finished. 

Repairs she was told are 

being done but it's on the 

step-dad who uses God

to dismiss his sins

free him from guilt over

his pedophilia. 

Religious mama can't wait to

move back in with her

God-forgiven child molester,

as she surely can forgive 

if He can.

Satan somewhat to blame

in his confession: evil temptation.

She sits behind the wheel

wth pretty frosted blonde hair

and perfect make-up;

smiling, happy, and 

five-year old Kendra in the 

back seat, chatty, sitting with

her toddler siblings, big smiles,

pointing at their nana's cat 

strolling down the driveway,

wanting me to know they 

will be seeing their two cats 

at home just as soon as the 

"work" on the house is all done.