Boon of Lilies

Friday night should have their own Saturday Night Live. I don’t actually watch Saturday Night Live, so I’m not sure why I care.

I miss what I never had. Things I’ve never known. Like a happy America.

My neighbor thought he was going to win the lottery. He went around with a picture of the car he was going to buy, a red Lamborghini. He threw away the picture when they towed his truck.

I speak three different body languages. Angry. Hungry. And horny.

My friend and I were taking a hike. It was springtime and the Earth was bursting with life. The sky rolled back like endless blue gum. My friend looked at me and I could see myself in his sunglasses, sunglasses on my own face that reflected his, an infinite loop between the two. “Nothing’s free anymore,” he told me, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to laugh.

You weren’t home so I took it you didn’t want me. You were out buying roses for our date.

The young boy ran around in the downpour, chasing after his dog. They were both panting and covered in mud and you couldn’t tell who was happier.

There was an older lady I used to see walking through the park every couple of days. She wore a dark purple headband and broadcasted a high wattage smile. Every time I saw her she waved and brightened my world, although I never learned her name. I began to see her less and less on my walks and then I never saw her again until I discovered, behind the baseball diamond, the boon of plum-colored lilies beaming in the ground all bright and cheery.

The second most unattractive thing on a woman, first is a cigarette, is the increasingly common occurrence of cell phones stored in back pockets. It’s borderline cruel to deface and mar that perfectly round shape with the impression of a hideous smartphone. I’m calling the phenomenon:  iPhone ass.

The last thing you want to hear on a date is “my ex-boyfriend was so possessive, violent and vengeful, but don’t worry, he won’t get out of prison for at least a couple of more months.” Second to that is, “Let me tell you about my dream.”

I don’t understand why when I told you I couldn’t decide whether I’m more of a comedian or a humorist you looked at me with such confusion in your eyes.

When I watch my dog sniffing some new flowers or watching shadows on the wall I can’t help but think of a movie theater of people staring at the screen.

There’s a cafe along the highway to Needless, nothing more than a dusty collection of floorboards and nails where the desert blows through when the door is opened. There is a piece of pie twirling around in its display case so old that if one were to order and eat it, they wouldn’t die but be pickled inside.

She buried a tomato plant in the backyard the day she got out of the hospital. When they were ripe and ready to pick she went out in the morning, plucked  one off the vine and bit into it so that its juice dribbled down her cheek and stained her bathrobe. She didn’t care that the neighbors were watching.

In China they put turtles in wallets. I just want to lay down next to you and listen to the sound of your breathing while you sleep.

I have a glass of wine and a glass of water in front of me. The right hand never knows what the left is doing.

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