I see them, standing in line

manufacturing drama

to talk about

but it’s not a good story—

it’s a horse whipping.

I can see their lips curling back with pleasure

exposing their teeth

like vampires.

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and we have to pretend like she does…”

“I heard, she got a vote of no confidence, but before the teachers went public

she slipped into a new job, like one of those dresses she wears

that don’t fit.”

“She has no shame. Nobody wants to see her figure.”

“I heard; her second marriage is on the rocks.”

I stood

back of the line, and tried to be invisible.

I didn’t know workplace gossip lasted all summer.

I avoided their petulant gaze

I didn’t want their petulant praise

because it’s as false as they are.

I watched a man that I admire. He knows what he’s doing

5-day beard

48 cans of beer

and 2 bottles of Absolute Vodka.

A retired engineer, I think

His hand shakes

when he pays the cashier

in cash.

He stinks, like alcohol

red in the face

with eyes like a lizard

watchful

hunched-over

He pushes his cart out of the store

There are many reasons to drink.

The absolute pleasure in life

is to escape, THEM

The alternative is to endure the trauma of their drama

At first, it made me angry

Then, crazy

After that, no problems.

I don’t know what they’re talking about

half-of-the-time.

They say what they think I am

and we’re like strangers, to each other

getting introduced

again, and again

but we can’t quite remember

who we are

and this amnesia, is welcome.

They invent stories about me

while I write about them.

They exclude me

while I want to be left alone.

We have a working relationship.