"honey really, i don't know why you two don't get along. you are so alike"

have you even seen two women fight in public?
no, i don't mean women fighting in the wwf ring...
in public, with other people whom they respect.
just that one single woman
in her group
that is all it takes to sour.

but it is magical to see them attack.

one smiles widley, revealing razor sharp fangs, and catipultes a compliment at the other.
poor compliment, who was merely biding his time in the pool that other guests often go fishing in, where he would have had a happy home in a malnurished ego.
instead, he is shot like a cannon into the cavity of the other woman. his belly roasted on her simmering skillot, his facial hair singed off.

the counter attack takes skill to be done to prefection. the loud unashamed laugh. it has to be equal parts audibal threat and pitty laughter. it has to be loud enough so that her ears will surley melt morbidly interanlly
yet quiet enough that the guests notice nothing of unease.

a break in the action. both sides retreating for reinforcements
moments of conversation. rest easily for a few moments. after a few more moments it appears that all is well.
A cease fire.

or is it?
the peace aggreement disrupted by dropping a name into the conversation.

the agressive hand hold, usually one hand but look out if she grabs both, and if she shakes the hands in air...well lets hope you're family knows you love them.

and the laughter, a potent mix of gun powdery disdain, "he was my college mate"

the light pat of the back or perhaps head, depending on the carnage so far, "oh is he really that old?"

look for it at your next gathering, you may be surprised that you're girlfriend and your sister really dont "just love" one another.


...

"I just wanted you...

"...to know, patti"

I say holding the glass, its ice cubes dancing around
and blowing my cover.

i want to pull it into my mouth.
the whole glass
crunch down on its crystal ridges and swallow the peices whole.

that would be comforting.
more than this.
this moment where you are looking with huge russet eyes and a shocked white cheek.

You look as if i've just confessed to murder.
this is suicide i know, it's nail biting, loose sleep, hair pulling agony waiting for you to respond.

i take the drink, parying it's laced with something that will paralyze me, vaporize me, or at the very least turn me into a small insect with extream squashability.

finally, your lips part and you beem a smile.
"Is it gone?" you ask still licking your teeth?

...

The Sometimes Ex

Is he sleeping?
Well, good because we need to talk.
And i know that this comes as a shock because
the last time you tried to comminicate i threatend castration.

he's such a sound sleeper
and so quiet.
i miss your snoring.
once when he went away for a weekend
i put the big pot we boiled lobsters in
on our second anniversary of breaking up
and a big metal spoon
i placed both on my radiator and kicked up the heat.
i never slept so soundly.

and look at these!
his hands have no character
yours were filled with crevases and cracks
callouses and chapped knuckles that made noise on my arms.
if i wanted soft hands like his, i'd touch myself.

this is what single people do, isn't it?
well single in the sense that i'm seeing someone singularly
single in the way that i whisper your name when i burn myself on the stove
which you never fixed properly
single as in no longer part of the plual: like jack and jill, ben and jerry.
i'm just jerry looking for a better ben
but biding time with tom

all the while, the time with tom ticking on
he is like sushi, i can see all of him raw and exposed wond up tight
in bite size accountability.
no pang of a boney disapointment.

i miss the slippery way we crash and burn.
i miss the irredecence of your personality.

and your snoring.