Privacy Please

Waking to a familiar voice,
"Whispers dig deeper." she
says, squatting down on me,
breathing hot into my ear.
I stare through red eyes at
the neon sign and think of
eating breakfast alone,
getting a glass of water,
finding a new lover.

Stepping into my shorts.
her arm on my back as I
stand to a tilting room
and a sonic boom. I don't
look at her as I walk toward
the kitchenette. Scaring her
with a 9 a.m. beer
might tear her out of
bed, but not out of this
cozy room.

Opening the refrigerator.
A pathetic giggle mixed with
a rusty burp as I realize
how stupid it was for me to
put the beer on the bottom
shelf. I lean into the
head rush and turn into the
spin. Knees on linoleum,
head on vegetable crisper.

Footsteps or heartbeats
echo then stop, a door
slams, the room grows
dark and cool. I blink and
squint to see the
privacy sign spinning wildly
on the handle.

T Jordan - October 1990