mmmccclxxxvii

All Lip and No Bite

how often he sees
his love down on
his knees; first
he’s hunched,
then he’s hunk
ered, he can’t
find his keys.
he’s under the
table and quite
late for work, and
he’s muttering
something, can’t
make out just what,
but you know that it’s
harsh and it’s dark and
it’s denigrating, unsui
table, really, for this
time of the morning,
so, “Ben,” says the
partner still stand
ing down toward
the miserable man
that’s but scrunched
up in under the most
distant corner of the
end table sitting
(of course) at
the opposite end
of the coffee table
from where Norman’s
(the one that’s been
standing), “Benny,
I’ve got your keys
in my hand over
here, they were
in yesterday’s
khakis, like always,
my dear.” then
Ben’s up from the
floor, but first there’s
a bonk as he bangs his
head at the marble
underside of the
table he’s somehow
gotten himself
under, nearly lifting
it clean all four legs off
the floor (and it’s not
a light lift with that
green slab of marble),
“oh, goodness! oh,
thanks Norm,” he’s
back on his feet, and
not just a teensy
bit awkwardly. he
grabs the keys out
from Norm’s thin-
fingered clasp and he
(this he does gracefully)
plants a real kiss onto Nor
man’s thin lips and he’s
out the door, van
ished, all lickety-split.