January 1998 / Volume One / Issue One
David Bates
telling her no as i button my jeans

morning thumbs a ride thru the slats of the blinds
cruising the couch and its tangle of blankets

a bag of bottles is dragged to the curb

a city bus pisses its air brakes at the corner

a neighbor tugs at his lawnmower until it starts

I emerge from beneath her and make it to the toilet
five dixie-cups of water and a moment of silence
concentrating on the pulse in my erection

returning to the living room she is awake
putting her clothes on and pulling back her hair
if she smiles I'm going to smile back
if she says she loves me I'm going to say it too

she lights a cigarette
and asks if there's any coffee made
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