Fine, How Are You?
My dad’s old boss is coming this way,
his eyes brimming with obligatory questions.
His pants are too tight,
I can see his penis suffocating under the seam’s duress.
He’s drunk.
A belly full of booze and regret.
The smell of his breath,
appetizers and liquor,
wafting around me, dizzying.
“How are you?”
His voice is heavy.
I know the answer to his question,
but my mind is hesitant.
My own intoxication wants to be honest,
to tell him how I really am.
To tell him that I feel ill,
after watching him grope the ass of his wife’s friend.
To tell him that men like him,
create sons who rape girls like me.
Who have raped girls like me.
Have raped me.
My mind wants me to say all of this.
No hesitation, no stutter.
Just the truth.
But that’s not what civilised people do.
No, we lie.
Lie out of courtesy.
So, after my brief pause,
I just say what I’m supposed to.
YOU ARE READING
So I Hear You Like Glass
PoetryA collection of musings, poems, memories, nightmares, short stories, and a one way ticket to the bowels of my mind.
