You call to ask if I’m cheating. I say
it snowed here yesterday. A couple
flakes, but in Mississippi that’s enough
to get everyone bent out of shape.
In Pennsylvania, you’ve got whole snow drifts.
Dead plants buried. Your apartment sounds nice,
the couch and red throw pillows. In my building,
before I moved here, a woman was raped and tortured. They found
her body at the bottom of Lake Sardis. That asshole
upstairs is playing Nirvana on shuffle again. No,
I’m not interested in him. Who could I possibly have sex
with? My coworker who says if I don’t like it here,
Delta still flies to New York? The bartenders who look
over my shoulder? Maybe the professor who called me
a bitch? Two months since I’ve seen you,
and all you want is to know if I’m cheating. Yes.
Yes, I jumped the counter at BP and made out
with the cashier. I sucked off the attendant
at the drive-thru beer place. I fucked a fat man
in the Burger King bathroom while I fondled
his he-boobies. And do you know what
I want to do to you? I want to dislocate
your eye with a car antenna. I want to beat
you and soak you in beer, then leave you
for the frat boys to scavenge. You want to know,
am I cheating? Here, even the sweet tea
leaves my throat gritty. Every drawl
is a cigarette burning my ear. And every
morning leaves me begging
for the Yankee winter,
beside you.
Tovah Leah Green earned an MFA in poetry from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and another in fiction from the University of Mississippi. Her work has appeared in such literary journals as Florida Review, Poet Lore, and Natural Bridge. Currently, she is the Membership Engagement Manager for the National Association of Professional Super Heroes
