We're in the middle of an 8th inning rally and the fucking doorbell rings.
I don't want any magazine subscriptions.
I don't want to buy chocolate bars to fund your eighth grade field trip.
And I don't want to party with you and the other sheep at your goddamn Rock Church.
When I opened the door shirtless
scratching at my stubbly chin
I saw the best job a push-up bra has ever done.
Years ago I remember
being told that a woman's breasts
exist to entice and
to disguise the racing of the heart.
My younger idealistic self
believed those words and may have been seduced by her.
But not me...not anymore.
I closed the door on her face
because they're just tits.
The man that I am now could never
make the heart of a woman flutter.
We lost six to nothing.
1 comment:
As I said, I have some strange infatuation with that first line... There's an instantly established tone for the rest of the work there- brilliant. And lord knows, I think there's a part of me that relates to this point of view... and I have to fight to keep it repressed most days. Spot on-
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