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.
Sounds like the story of my life.
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Me Too, Daily Poetry!
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