“What kind of sick fuck makes you line up for spankings?”
She’s not asking, she’s telling me about her dad.
He went to war and came home with a purple heart.
We sit in the middle of the coffee
shop and pretend to be happier than
we are. We mix smiles with cream and sugar
and try not to smear our lipstick at the
same time. You with your suicidal mom
and me with mine already in the grave.
We talk about therapy and trade tips
for antidepressants like old women
switch recipes. We’re good at pretending
we’re happy, we don’t even know we are
doing it. You take a drag off of your
cigarette and smile at me through gapped teeth.
Did you know gapped teeth were a sign of good
fortune in the fifteenth century? Really.
We smile and ask for some more sugar.
I wrote both of these a VERY long time ago. I am still friends with both of the people I wrote about. Things have changed so much for all of us, the people in the poems are unrecognizable.