The Existential Consequence of Seeing an Ex at a Bar

Bundesarchiv_Bild_183-29645-0001,_Potsdamer_Konferenz,_Stalin,_Truman,_Churchill.jpg

Lisa approached me at the bar-
We embraced with a
Hug & hello. But the implication
Perceived through acknowledgement
Wasn’t to cultivate our sterile friendship.
No. Her intention was to arouse
His possessive tendencies
(He fucks her harder when she does).

We continued with our dialogue.
She asked if I was still writing.
I swallowed a gulp of beer
And wiped off a foam mustache
Stuck to my facial stubble,
“Wouldn’t be living without it.”

“Your words always…
Always had an impact on me,”
She smiled. A fleck of something green
Appeared lodged between her teeth,
“Do you still write about me?”

I paused. Thought. Took another drink.
Then he walked over.
Stoic in demeanor
Wrinkleless face bland of expression.
We shook hands like Churchill and Stalin.
“No,” I told her in response.

“Why not?” Her reply
Corresponded with her
Stroking his hair.

And I remembered
When she would touch me that way.
And how cold her fingertips felt,
Parting the follicles and touching scalp.

“I just don’t think about you,”
I said.

“What are guys talking about?” He asked.

Lisa and I glanced at each other
Then she broke the stare,
Leaned and kissed him. “Nothing,”
She explained, “let’s go dance.”

Off they tramped
Into a room
Illuminated by rainbow lights
Directed towards the band on stage-

While I sat in darkness
Smiling as I watched ignorance
Indulge bliss.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s