I would say the day was crass. Like a cold soup.
So we’ll just say it was a
gazpacho
kind of day .
She returned from the airport,
or so she says.
I never saw a plane.
The pizza I’d ordered on the day she left me.
Had just arrived.
I made sure to wear the fuzzy slippers ,
the ones  with the 3” heels.
She didn’t notice.
Her gaze .
She stared me down.
Like a gazelle that’d been trapped in an industrial freezer.
I was frozen in my tracks.
Cigarette hanging from her lips.
Like a convicted man on a noose.
His only crime.
Being a cigarette.
I’d met a woman like her only one time before,
I went to the bathroom I introduced myself.
And again.
When I came back out.
She asked me for a light.
I gave her the moon.
Because I keep my lighters in my *** crack.
We talked all night.
Well I did.
You were tied to a chair with a ******* in your mouth.
I know you felt it too.
The spark?
Between us?
When the microwave blew up .
You were right.
About the gazpacho.
No metal in the microwave.
Well. Again. I’m sorry to hear about your athletes foot.
Tell your mom I said hello.