I know the store is closed yet
here I am walking the half-mile
from my place. An hour before
she had driven from her
house on the lake down
to my cluttered apartment and we
made senseless, loveless *** on the
kitchen counter. It was quick and
impersonal. My hand on her hip.
Hers in her hair. During we didn’t speak.
Afterwards, however, we shared
cheap and endless conversation.
I didn't want to know any of it.
About where she was working,
how her ex boyfriend used to beat her.
I made the decision then to never
invite her down again. The baggage
was too much. For a good amount
of time she sat there, describing her
new dog, how she felt weird going
out to the bars we used to frequent,
how she needed someone to get
her off of the market.
I told a joke or two then, easing
the tension, before I begged mercy
and excused myself to get
some eggs and milk.