Shit Eating Grin
Between the potted plants of the Korean deli,
you asked me if I could even out a bowling team,
but my hands were busy since on Saturdays
I shuffle the galaxy.
After some phone calls, you chased me through the streets,
but it was during the day so it wasn’t scary.
I almost liked you, but then I remembered nothing is
aesthetically pleasing about being left behind or
the flashdancer gentleman’s club ads on
Broadway and 53rd. Just a lone girl who has
white hearts photoshopped into her eyes,
pretending it’s the gleam from the camera’s flash.
Sometimes I remember that story you told me,
about the old man whose hearing was so acute he
had to re-record all his favorite CDs underwater.
Everything was muffled, but it didn’t hurt his ears, and
at the time, I was too distracted by falling in love with you and
forgot to ask how there was no water damage.
Now my teeth show when I smile wide,
and yesterday you asked me to tell you how it feels.
So I told you to picture falling down a well
with a smile on your face with the drop
in slow motion and your fingernails don’t scrape
but instead caress the wet walls as you drop to the bottom.