as she flicks me off from afar,
maybe across the street,
maybe across a life.
she has seen the worst in me
in the last two days, cocaine doldrums
and loving other gala
more than her while fucking.
the coffee in the doctor's office
tastes like ashtrays,
as I grill bored peaches about anxiety,
bothering Annika with texts.
to keep my options open
like legs,
Joan knows this
and she has her side dudes, too.
they are all better than Elissa,
who just uses me for boners and beer,
but none of us matter to all of us, really,
because we are just stops on the Rumbler.
Joan gets in a cab,
saying she never wants to see me again,
but she will text me late Saturday night
after rejections and rum-and-Diet-Cokes.