July 2006/Volume Seven/Issue Two
David Thompson
When I'm Trying To Sleep

I was almost asleep when
my ex-wife muted the tv
and announced,
Tomorrow will mark
one year since my friend Ellen
and her husband had sex last.

Thatís good, honey, I told her,
rolled over toward the wall.
that asshole just won't have sex
with her.  And you know what else? 

I pulled my knees up to my chest,
told her no. 
She found his porno
stash the other day
. Thatís not good,
I answered, my eyes squeezed shut.
You know what makes it even worse?
No clue, I said, rolled over on my back
again, stared up at the ceiling. 
She found this thing called The Bullet. 
Ever heard of one?
No, I answered,
drumming my fingers on the blanket
over my chest. 
You stick it up your ass
and make it vibrate by remote control. 

Jesus, I said, do you have to bring up shit
like this when Iím trying to sleep?
I just thought it was interesting.
You never want to talk about anything.
I think I might bake them a cake.
What kind do you think would be best?

When I didnít answer, she put the volume
back on the tv, flipped through the channels
until she found Letterman.  After a minute
or two, I sat up, propped my pillow against
the headboard, sighed, and told her that
she couldnít go wrong with Angel Food.
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