TFLN - Magic, Mundane

Hey,

Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.

(717)

How the hell does my fucking boss know about the goddamn magician I fucked?

This –

This goes against some kind of code,

Right?

Magicians aren’t supposed to reveal tricks.

And, besides –

It wasn’t , it wasn’t my fault.

Jeez. I’m not some messed up skank

Spending weekends in Atlantic City,

Leaning up against every stage door,

Scanning for a man quick with his fingers,

Hungry for a little buck strange.

It was just a blind date.

Jules wasn’t wearing a cape or slathered in baby oil.

Just a tweed jacket.  We ate Ethiopian cuisine,

Talked about publishing, losing parents young.

That sudden, somber shift your jaw makes

When you realize you’re the oldest

And have to tender the load. Childhood’s over.

Never got to share that unexpected pain with someone before.

He heard me. Not just rote, empty pity. He had walked that cruel road. 

And soon, we were at his place, two hungry, complementary shapes.

And that night, I woke to pee,

Looked around, saw the velour costumes,the cages of rabbits, white turtle doves.

The kerosene torches, the thin, wobbly swords, the wooden devices meant to bind

Another woman, cut in her two,

And winch her whole. Reborn.  And  I’ll admit.  I wanted that.

For a moment. To be his weirder half.

But the world looks unkindly upon the strange.   

Best to be ordinary. Show no colors. Tell no stories.

I collected my clothes.

I held my breath.

Tried not to sob.

And left.