meant to stay private, right?
She comes over to me, touches
my cheek. Still nothing to say?
Goddamn it, I hate when you just
stare at me like that. Her hand
jerks away and her eyes harden,
morgue-cold with anger. Fine.
Fuck you too, then. Take your shit,
get out, and don’t come back.
I can’t deal with this anymore.
She storms from the room, slams
the door so hard a picture rocks
off the dresser, falls to the floor.
WHAT, EXACTLY, DID I DO?
I mean, yeah, I told her, “Fuck you.”
But that was heat of the moment,
and I said I was sorry. I can’t
believe she has such a short fuse.
She’ll cool off and it will all be
fine, right? First things first.
I need a shower. The bathroom
is so Nikki—green and yellow
and messy and smelling of ginger.
The water heater is old and Nikki’s
shampoo-condition-and-shave
routine pretty well emptied it.
I am barely rinsed by the time
the H2O fades from lukewarm
to frigid. Any other day, I’d be
mad. Today, all I can do is laugh.