Efficient"Wow," he says, eyes fixed on my watch's sterile face,
where a glowing lilac bar bears a small white number:
fifty-two. "You must have a really good heart."
Appreciating the joke he doesn't know he's made,
I snort, and open my mouth to share it with him.
But then he launches into a rambling explanation
of some tepid statistic called "vee oh two,"
and my eyes spread slowly sideways while my mouth
freezes into a grotesque potato peel shape,
corners turned up just enough to pass for a smile
--to someone not really paying attention, anyway.
Meanwhile, my stupendously efficient heart plods on,
steady as a hangover and twice as ornery,
churning and muttering under its rancid breath,
"That's right, bitch, what else you got, what else,
you can throw whatever you want at me, anything,
I ain't goin' nowhere, nowhere, nowhere."
Poetry by Lady Courtaire
Read 133 times
Written on 2021-09-15 at 02:53
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