Gosh, I hate it when she posts poems.

The First Thursday in September

I stop in Bryant Park and watch the men
playing ping pong at 10:30 at night on a Thursday.
They bring their own paddles and balls–
they’re serious.  Over where the grass usually is
other men are busy.  They set up a tent.
Maybe for Fashion Week.  I guess for Fashion Week.
I forget it’s Fall, unofficially, considering Labor Day.

I only stop in hopes one of the men will invite me to play,
but after I try and fail to catch a stray ball
that flies near my head and one of the men says, “Good try,”
(in a way that makes me think he found it endearing that
I’d even attempted as it was obviously futile considering
my vagina) I walk off.

In line for the public restroom the two women behind me
talk about a bartender–
“You should totally marry him.”  “Yeah,” the other one nods.
She describes the way he peers into her eyes over the bar
as she orders: “Intense.”  They nod.
“He’s dreamy.”  “Yes, dreamy. That’s
a good way to describe him.”

A door opens and a person emerges.
It’s my turn and I take a piss.

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2 responses to “Gosh, I hate it when she posts poems.

  1. I stopped by and read:
    “I stop in Bryant Park and watch the men…
    I only stop in hopes one of the men will invite me to play…”
    And the ending was:
    “It’s my turn and I take a piss…”
    Hiks! It made me think about….
    Madame, I liked the way you captured the attitudes of men, women and human being.
    Nice posting!
    I’ll stop by you blog later.
    Thank you.

  2. Thank you, thank you! And thank you for stopping by.

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