Party-Sized
I don’t remember
a thing about
the first man
who put his cock
inside of me—
only the way
his heels ground up
potato chips
into the shag—
The Reason
I go to look
up “sycophancy”
on Google
when an incoming
text from my
husband asking if
we need milk
makes me forget
the reason
I reached for
my phone in
the first place
and then another
amber alert
or flood warning
or stock market
portfolio dive
flashes across
my screen sans
Whack-a-Mole
soundtrack
and then I’m
back to my book
where the word
“sycophancy”
is highlighted
reminding me
to go back to
where I had just
come from
when I get a call
from an Unknown
Caller and I’m
not sure if I
should go ahead
and pick up
where I left off
or just leave
the thing alone.
