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
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 eating my own foolishness.
~Kate Buccigross, 9/3/14