grief

Tuesday Dance

From that girl.
And now I look more like a woman.
I feel naked.

Mechanical:
I listened.
I talked.
I laughed.
I drank.
I waited for a shoulder that shrugs.

I wail into the phone, “You said you were coming.”

There was a laugh, “She’s drunk.”

The shoulder answers, “…Will just finish the bucket. I was on my way but my friend asked…”

I almost cry, “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry for imposing…but pay for the damn bucket then leave. ”

The shoulder says, “Wait…Okay. I’ll finish this beer and go…”

I sniffle, “Okay.”

The shoulder I had been waiting for arrives and I mumble to it, “I’m sorry…It’s this divorce…So that I can move to something else… Divorce against…”

The shoulder says, “I understand…Yeah, I go through that, too.”

Then I feel the shoulder shrug.

I exhale a laugh, able to shrug then, and hug him tight, “Thanks… Damn stupid girls for not seeing you…”

I want to fly—
I say, “I want to drive.”
He stops the car:
I move to dance once more behind the wheel, “Buckle up.”

The curves, faster, curving faster, if I let go, we will fly.

A reminder, my name to my right.
Don’t worry, I won’t slip.
In this I cannot slip.
Reminded, I slow to a stop, this dancing
of tires to make edges curve.
I wanted to slip.
To stop this stinging.
I do not slip.

Almost begging for sleep, I swallow my howling.

I sting.