Something you rarely get from women

I’m not using my body right now
so you can play with it if you want to.

i love that.
a line from a song on some crazy mix tape James made
i can just picture the woman speaking
and wish every woman I crave was that kind
and I’m sitting here half in bed at 10 a.m.
been mostly awake since 7
freezing my ass off
in this uninsulated shack
awaiting the warmth of the rising sun
and thinking.
hah!
god damn lid-less eyes of the mind
unshuttered
impossible to close
think
think
thought
thunk
thank
think
drink
so I’m belly-aching over this invitation
for dinner tonight from this aging closet-case
one Dulton from Del Mar
an emissary from my late teen years
of turning-on every rich queen in soCal
with my accidentally homoerotic lithe Greek body
and my open-minded acceptance of the gay community
or perhaps more succinctly put:
my need of praise
of knowing that I was desirable
something you rarely get from women
until you’ve already laid them
so subtle and guarded are they
so the gay men gave me something I craved
but I never wanted the rest
not even from that Midas-touch geezer
from Rancho Santa Fe with his invitations
to tour the Greek Isles for a damn year
on his damn Titanic yacht
with 40 servants or something
and now Dulton
ugh
a voice inside me
(probably from my stomach!)
says “Nice, expensive dinner!
full course meal!”
as I stare woefully at a tin of oatmeal
and three cans of some horrid soup I’ve
been avoiding for weeks
but the other voice is a little clearer
not so subjective as that
spend-too-much-at-the-store-on-
an-empty-stomach voice
this other voice is saying:
“Warning! Dull queen!
First boring, then groping.”
and then there’s the plain fact
that the other day I damn near exploded
to Amanda venting outrage and indignation
after sitting through two hours of his bullshit
about this book he wants to write
(has been writing in his head for years)
and how he has an agent, an editor, a publisher
a god damn fluffer for all I know
and all he doesn’t have is THE BOOK.
hello?
what an ass
to sit there and tell me all that
knowing well-enough who I am
what I do
and what I lack:
an agent, an editor, a publisher
i hate him
and that about does it
made up my mind
not going
thank you for listening
gee, and you didn’t even get dinner out of it.

© Rick McKinney 1999

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