Scenes from a Weekend: Saturday

8:30

I put a hex on myself by driving to drink
with a few local unknowns while passing
under the wide bridge of a swollen moon
and muttering: “I won’t stay out late.”

8:40

I am led inside and upstairs by a little witch
with the butteriest of brown skin. Here
a cadre of magicians make preparations
to not see straight. A codfish leans determinedly
over a pool table, a hunchback in the kitchen brewing,
and everyone lounging with chokeholds on bottlenecks
resigned, it seems, to have what is called
“a good time”.

8:43

Our master of ceremonies: a young latino
with esoteric beauty marks decorating sly
pieces of skin, like splotches of paint, one laid
delicately over his left eyelid.

He has the smug softness of a boy who,
even enduring hardship, is much too accustomed
to getting what he wants;

and his smile isn’t dangerous but
he must know exactly what snare to set:
the sandtrap
of curiosity.

He makes me a drink.

9:00

A haute-couture handbag of a dog brushes
happily around sixteen legs; from the top of the stairs
Monster Truck, the rabbit, watches the proceedings
reproachfully.

I alight on the couch and try to flirt up
something like a conversation with a girl
who covers herself in ways with which
I am all too familiar.

9:56

In common moves: he inserts himself
into spaces not meant for him, but that give
way easily.

10:03

It seems to be funny. I seem to like
laughing. And he’s handing out more
invitations to jokes that I would be
rude to refuse.

11:12

I am an incorrigible flirt and this
isn’t helping.

11:23

I want him to be the good boy she thinks
he is. And I almost do—

11:33

—at least, until he—

Predictably, I startle: my hand flies and “accidentally”
crash lands hard into his groin.

Of course, we all dutifully
scrunch our faces in sympathy, and I
apologize—but only after a careful smirk
and the admonition: “You should keep
your legs together.”

12:02

The night thickens.
Cupcakes come out.

12:17

(You know, I never expected desperation
to take the form of six prospective doctors
gathered in the kitchen around a pink blunt
rolled from two roaches and someone’s
electric bill, but hey.)

12:20

There is a grin in the dark winking
in and out, in and
out.

3:00

Something happens between—

3:38

I make it home.
I lock the door, strip off
my clothes and don’t
dream.


A/N: In other news, I found out that I can do 40 consecutive push-ups whilst fairly intoxicated. I can’t put that on a resume, but I feel like it’s still moderately impressive. 

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