Sometimes Good Things Happen

The partner smokes themselves to sleep. Left alone with anger and frustration. Why this habit of relying on another for sexual fulfillment? First chakra, second chakra problems. Are you the person who boasts about bizarre things? No. I’m the one with every sexual hangup. Pull it out of the head. Pull it into the body. Guarded, was one couples description. In the middle, mediating between good people who despise each other. End up on everyone’s shit list. One tells me they have “no confidence in” me. The other says I’ve been unethical. Wants to take our neighborhood organization to court for more money. And someone right now is hanging themselves. Another shoots dope. A neighbor drinks themselves to death. A great aunt died of cirrhosis at thirty-two. The Irish side, of course. I hear you, sister. Nicotine is a fuck and a fucker. Insidious. Failed lap dance. Uninspired blow job. Limp tool. Self esteem takes a vacation. What is play? Sold and paid off all our credit card debt. Awesome. But the income is too low to stay out of it. This is the case for 80% of the country. A friend paid $8,000 in interest and fees on credit cards last year. Fucked up. That’s what some neighbors live on for a year. Taking ninety minute bus rides to and from Walmart for part time work. Boyfriend? Sex? Least of her concerns. Makes sense. First world problems. A list of complaints does no one any good. The angel trumpets smell divine. This would be a good time of year to die during. To hell with my need to be seen. Rain and wind. Let the wind by my audience. Angels don’t care about your artwork. Just that it reminds us who we are. Remember the last time you were happy, felt good. Can’t have been long ago. It wasn’t. It was standing in the doorway feeling the wind and rain, feeling the soft, round shapes on either side of this lovely person’s tail bone. Progressive politics played on the phone. Bernie Sanders. Elizabeth Warren. Tonight’s debate. Someone will be president, most likely.