POEMS



Wool Blend

My lunch date Jody arrived a little behind schedule and neared the quiet booth with a slight cower and said: “Sorry I’m late.”

I didn’t care.  I wanted to drink up every inch of her in glutinous gulps which could be easier swallowed while I watched her approach our table like a fashion model on a runway.  

I’d met Jody a little over four years ago at City College.  She taught the first creative writing class I attended and was proof that at fifty-something, I could still have a school boy crush. 

Jody had changed her look since we’d last met.  She came coiffed in a Cheryl Tiegs strawberry blond hairdo from the 80’s and wore a tight fitting red dress, nylons, and open toed pumps from the same period.

I thought the whole get-up was a little over done, but the wool blend flattered her attributes accordingly and reminded me of how our short lived affair had begun, but spoke nothing of how it ended.

I suppose my disloyal escape and Jody’s post divorce attempt at triage were perfect salves for what might have been shared broken heartedness as well as our mutual inability to tell the truth.

I’d engaged in two other such affairs over the 24 four years of my marriage…one with the checkout lady

Heather at my neighborhood Gelson’s, and the other with Amber, a much younger waitress at a nearby vegetarian restaurant, both imaginary liaisons made me feel vital and alive…

Thankfully all my selfish indiscretions have lived solely in between my ears and manifested exclusively by way of innuendo and flirtation

Well I guess that’s not all true

There was the several month period back in 96 when I carried on cyber infidelities in the privacy of my guest house office located down a several hundred step staircase that stretched along the steep hillside from our house above Mulholland.

And the fact that my adulterous behavior was only accompanied by a keyboard, motherboard, cpu, modem and computer screen and without a breathing partner led me to rationalize I was due a moral pass
And the fact that I had paid for a house I didn’t want to buy, and the fact that I yielded to my wife’s obsession about a certain school district also helped aid in my sub-vocalized justifications

 But Jody was standing before me, and the fact that she was game and made me feel attractive, was like breathing fumes from an ether soaked pillow case, but at the same time made me feel guilty for misleading her and even worse for betraying my wife, even if our meet would only yield chopped salad and a quick literary update 

I stood from my seat and we mimicked an embrace; it was a sideways hug that woke me from my lustful drunkenness and I replied: “No problem, I just got here.”