Drug Store Girl
I can already see her getting nailed in the bathroom,
Some close-haired, stubby-fingered delivery driver that asked for a key
and delivered me an anticipated blow.
Pre-mortem on our affair
and my gut says she finds me boring
Within a month.
My ascetic’s brain knows it, that I won’t be
Fun or free enough, with anything.
I’m not her dad.
Pre-pubescent yelling, sympathetic-browed screaming in my face.
Why? We have nothing in common.
My X and Y is gen X, her Xs Y.
She thought I would take her away
and put her where exactly?
There’s nowhere she would fit.
But here I am, looking at her,
Next to the plastic toys and the honeycomb smell
of the bumper-size bags of candy.
Here I am, in a suit and in a purple patch
For reasons I can’t fathom.
And she’s looking at me, looking amazing,
Languidly chewing that gum,
That must have drained to saliva and stomach acid
a long while ago, but it’s so alluring
That I think fuck it.
Let’s pretend it’s a good idea.
Simon Pinkerton’s first love was a late 80s Cindy Crawford Calendar. He writes humor and fiction at coolio places such as Word Riot, Razed and McSweeney’s, and if you’ve got a few minutes you can find links to his published stuff on his blog, www.simonpinkerton.tumblr.com . Please tweet at him @simonpinkerton
*Featured photo courtesy of frequent contributor, C.C. O’Hanlon*