On Sunday night, over dinner with an old friend
the words, “my new man,”
danced off my lips
with no foresight or hesitation
like they belonged
easy as you please.
Surprised, I stopped
just to taste them, and, O!
they were rich, full, mellow
ever so slightly sweet
like coconut
or a mouth full of autumn.
I’m sorry, dear, but don’t be surprised
if your Tuesday title doesn’t taste quite right
friend is delicious, but
the artificial sweetness of “just a friend”
after I have tasted something so real
burns the back of my throat.
Cloying chemical saccharine
synthetic, manufactured aftertaste;
like trying too hard,
like letting me down easy,
like feasting on foolishness.
~Kate Buccigross, 9/3/14
[…] Maybe this is why blogging is my perfect outlet? In this space I can talk about being fat or about being sexually abused. I’ve tattled on the teenagers that tormented me and the professors that failed me. I’ve given advice and spilled my heart. […]
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