other girl has sent him on
his way. Maybe it’s because
I’m on my period and can’t
make love to him, anyway.
Is it because I’m not buzzed?
Regardless, I dial his number,
with the usual result, leave
him directions to the motel,
sans an “I love you” addendum.
Wonder if he’ll even notice.
Wonder if he’ll even care.
Wonder if he’ll drop in, score,
drop back out of my life again
until he needs to restock.
Maybe I should get buzzed.
Next, I call Mom. “Sorry I
missed your birthday, but I
had to move out of the Red
Rock house…. No, the guy’s
wife came back and they
don’t need a nanny anymore….
I’m in a weekly for now. Can I
come out tomorrow and bring your
birthday present? See you then.”
Maybe I shouldn’t get buzzed.
Who knows if or when Trey
will get here? I flip on the TV,
debating whether or not to get
buzzed. An hour passes. Two,
with nothing but reality shows