Sunday, October 03, 2010

Kid Can't Dance


Okay, yeah he's alright. Kid can't dance and his pants are too tight but his eyes they shine like diamonds when he looks at her and he buys her flowers and opens the door, nothing like the guys she's been with before. Kinda weird I guess that chin beard and leather jacket and country shirts and jeans tucked into his boots and his hair all combed down to the side but the little things like letting her drive and choose the movie and I bet he goes downtown when they're getting groovy. And she's happy in her face and in her brain not just smiling to cover the pain but actually calm and comfortable and so happy deep down inside her guts and I'm telling you this as someone who used to think that slut was nuts. She's a different person now but the same, better like a cloud that dumped all its rain and he is the reason why she is no longer batshit insane.

She's in the present, now, wrapped up with a silk ribbon and a purple bow and I need to open the box. There's something in the future that I've seen in the past. I've got to tell her that this thing, this kid, it's not going to last. He'll change and it might be tomorrow or next year or in ten, I can't really say exactly when but one day he'll wake up and instead of fetching coffee he'll tuck back in and think "what the fuck am I lacking" and he'll realize that nothing is ever about him. He won't go with her to Ikea because he's sleeping in. He'll masturbate then put on that t-shirt she hates that says "I play to win."

She won't notice of course or she'll make excuses and when they're married he'll make jokes about whips and nooses and they'll have some kids and get divorced. Better that I tell her now I guess that this kid who she thinks is more will end up less. "Take a deep breathe," I'll say, "count up to three. There'll be someone else, someone better, just wait and see." Then one day I'll get down on one knee and tell her that someone is me. And I can dance.

5 comments:

  1. aw i shoulda said "feltching coffee"

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  2. You go downtown with the rhymes.
    And you write to win, Fink.

    'alchurpe'

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is pretty.

    Why do women always hate our T-shirts? Always. Never take me to Ikea unless there is a sale on hensw

    ReplyDelete
  4. IT'S T_SHIRT TIIIIME.

    ReplyDelete

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