The Wrinkles & The VIP Lounge
The Wrinkles
Tomorrow is Friday.
But so was yesterday.
I am afraid to check
but I know--
I am stuck in a loop
and there is no weekend in sight.
“The time is out of joint.”
Best to ride it out. What she said.
Why iron when the wrinkles
find their own steam?
And who cares now anyway?
The end is like totally nigh bro.
After a morning walk in the woods,
I contained less me.
Bits of my watery excess
turned to dew atop
the scrub pines and oak.
Remnants of self
were evidenced everywhere
and for a moment I was gloriously less.
By the time I reached the dune grass,
I was almost free.
Ah what a relief to lessen
the clamp of mind upon body.
But now, writing this,
I’ve come back in a big way
and it is beginning to hurt again.
Or maybe it tickles, I’m not quite sure.
A blob of eternity…or maybe not.
No one takes my funny.
But I’m happy to share this sad.
“I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”
Best to ride it out. What she said.
Who knew a pattern
could become a regime?
Who knew a wrinkle
was vulnerable to steam?
No matter the calendar,
I must walk in the woods ‘til morning
in hopes of locating
the whereabouts of a weekend.
The VIP Lounge
Before I started taking those meds
That everyone took back then
I used to practice my lines in lovers’ quarrels
That took place all over the Lower East Side
Sometimes passers-by became audiences
When they would pause to enjoy our spat
As if our dialogue was worthy of Albee
Dear reader
You may ask with whom I was arguing
The guy that I loved like no other
In large part because he tormented me perfectly
Then abandoned me
Taking my Gaultier coat
And my prescription drugs too
In other words every man I went out with from 1985 to 1995
And yes there were many
Well, enough to fill the dance floor of the Pyramid Club
Now when one of those charming men
Approaches me on the street
I wonder
Who is this deranged-looking senior citizen talking to me?
Yes I was a serial monogamist
Who believed that love was redemption
But even then I sometimes referred to Oliver as Diego
And Diego became superimposed upon Oskar
I was deluded enough
To believe that he was mine ‘til the day I died
But who exactly was he?
And really who was I?
Now I realize I was reeling
Because my friends were dying
And I assumed my draft number was next
Perhaps I should have been promiscuous
And had perfected my wide stance
In airport bathrooms like U.S Senators
Or frequented the bushes alongside scenic views along the highway
Maybe I could have been a regular at that after-hour sex club
In the old meat market
Frequented by taxicab drivers and cater-waiters and club kids
(Okay I did go there but I swear I was never a regular)
But instead I fell in love twelve times a year
Announcing it to all my friends who rolled their eyes
When I repeated that finally
I had found the One
When in fact
My run of luck was sluggish
And my delusions dilapidated
Dear reader
my waistline has expanded and my temples are gray now
I’m hairy everywhere I don’t it want to be
And it’s thinning and receding where it should be full and fat
I’m a “bear” by default and I hibernate most evenings
No more chic art openings and trendy dance clubs for me
Who cares?
I’m happily—and legally—married
To the most gorgeous guy in the entire world
He makes fun of me (I deserve it)
But really he treats me like a Prince
Even though I am a peasant from a Manhattan shtetl
Who married into outer borough aristocracy
After all those meaningless guest lists and drink tickets
I am lucky to live in our very own VIP lounge