WOMEN IN FLESH
I laid on the bed
with Susanna
while her roommate, Melanie,
sat on the floor.
I had loved Melanie
for a short time;
a sweet white girl
from a sweet white trash family.
But now, I was loving Susanna.
Susanna is half Mexican, half
Sicilian, and I'm always
a sucker for those girls with
brown skin, brown eyes,
and dark brown hair.
It must be in my blood.
I was loving Susanna,
stroking the hem of her dress,
as she read me poetry.
Melanie pulled out a letter
from some guy she'd had
a recent affair with.
"I think it's a love letter,"
she said.
She read it aloud.
When she was finished,
they both swooned.
Susanna rolled over
to the edge of the bed and looked
down at Melanie, who was sitting
Indian style.
"That's so beautiful,"
she said.
It was quite possibly
the worst letter I'd ever
heard or read,
obviously written by a man
who knows women from
magazines better than
women in flesh,
who knows life in TV shows
and movies better than
life out there on the streets.
How did I end up here?
here in this room with two
beautiful, lovely 20 year old girls
with bouquets of flowers
from boys and ex lovers, and
pretty fabrics and things
tied around the room?
Was it some kind of magic?
Was I more handsome, now,
or more charming?
more charming than I was
in my youth? was that true?
I thought about the girls
I've loved before,
with their fat asses and 40 year
old faces, shit smelling lips
and stains on their underwear.
Susanna pinched my chest.
"I'll punch you in the face!"
I said.
She got mad.
"I'm kidding, darling."
"It doesn't matter," she said,
"get out!"
I finished my beer, Melanie was gone, i hadn't noticed.
"Okay," I said, "I'm leaving, now."
I turned toward the door.
Susanna stood up in bed,
"come here," she said,
in a low voice.
She wasn't mad, anymore.
She wasn't really mad to begin with.
I could see it on her face.
I kissed her, and lifted
her off the bed
and kissed her
some more.
I looked in her eyes and I
wanted to tell her
that I love her,
but what would she think, really?
She's young.
She's had countless
men tell her that before, what
would it mean to her?
I left.
Hell, what does it mean to me,
anyway?
I really don't know.
I laid on the bed
with Susanna
while her roommate, Melanie,
sat on the floor.
I had loved Melanie
for a short time;
a sweet white girl
from a sweet white trash family.
But now, I was loving Susanna.
Susanna is half Mexican, half
Sicilian, and I'm always
a sucker for those girls with
brown skin, brown eyes,
and dark brown hair.
It must be in my blood.
I was loving Susanna,
stroking the hem of her dress,
as she read me poetry.
Melanie pulled out a letter
from some guy she'd had
a recent affair with.
"I think it's a love letter,"
she said.
She read it aloud.
When she was finished,
they both swooned.
Susanna rolled over
to the edge of the bed and looked
down at Melanie, who was sitting
Indian style.
"That's so beautiful,"
she said.
It was quite possibly
the worst letter I'd ever
heard or read,
obviously written by a man
who knows women from
magazines better than
women in flesh,
who knows life in TV shows
and movies better than
life out there on the streets.
How did I end up here?
here in this room with two
beautiful, lovely 20 year old girls
with bouquets of flowers
from boys and ex lovers, and
pretty fabrics and things
tied around the room?
Was it some kind of magic?
Was I more handsome, now,
or more charming?
more charming than I was
in my youth? was that true?
I thought about the girls
I've loved before,
with their fat asses and 40 year
old faces, shit smelling lips
and stains on their underwear.
Susanna pinched my chest.
"I'll punch you in the face!"
I said.
She got mad.
"I'm kidding, darling."
"It doesn't matter," she said,
"get out!"
I finished my beer, Melanie was gone, i hadn't noticed.
"Okay," I said, "I'm leaving, now."
I turned toward the door.
Susanna stood up in bed,
"come here," she said,
in a low voice.
She wasn't mad, anymore.
She wasn't really mad to begin with.
I could see it on her face.
I kissed her, and lifted
her off the bed
and kissed her
some more.
I looked in her eyes and I
wanted to tell her
that I love her,
but what would she think, really?
She's young.
She's had countless
men tell her that before, what
would it mean to her?
I left.
Hell, what does it mean to me,
anyway?
I really don't know.