The Takeout Mood

 

We both know I’m going to spill
bits of eggroll along the thin line
where the ottoman meets the floor.
They’ll leave a little slick of grease.
And you’ll press them to the thin,
maddening bit of moisture on your finger-
tips before flicking them off into the trash
without me looking. And we’ll look at each other
as if nothing had happened – which is really
why anyone orders Chinese.

When we’ve eaten too much for sex;
when the DVD runs out and replays
the same song devoid of start or stop;
when your roommate comes in and we scramble
under the straightened and untapped sheets
anyway;  when we remember scenes
of movies we watched with our mothers,
and hated: What then?

There are cookies in the oily
bag bottoms, but we’ll give those
to our friends and future lovers.

 

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Washington D.C, 2011

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