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She pushed gently against me

and fell on the

bed

Stretched a leg towards me

began unbuttoning at her

jeans



I helped her take them

off

Not too gentle, not too rough



Grinning, she turned around

in bed and said, “I just

remembered, you never told me

what your muse looks like.”



“Huh?”



“And please don’t tell me

it looks like me. We both know

that’s bullshit sweet talk poets use

to get girls. Don’t

lie to me, boy. What does your

muse look like? You

can tell me.”



I reached for her foot

moved it out of the way

not too gently, not too rough

Reached for the panties



She pushed my hand away

not too gently, not too rough

“Tell me. Is it, by any chance, a little

girl locked inside a basement like

it was for my ex-boyfriend? Do you

whip her when she’s naughty

and doesn’t give you inspiration? Do

you deny her food and the

bathroom?”



“What?”



“Tell me, poet! Do you? Do you

lie on your back when you masturbate

and imagine the muse

squat above your face

and shower you with her piss

as blessing?”



I took a step back. “What?”



“Oh fuck,” she said. “Just tell

me already what your muse

looks like and how d’you get

intimate with her. Tell me!”



“I, I don’t know. I don’t work

like that.”



She stopped touching herself

Watched me expecting

to add more



I gave a shrug.



Honestly, the last time I thought of

a muse it was

some broke, homeless young guy,

scrawny as a putrid

plank and roaming the streets



He had nothing in this

world

but hunger

A hunger that possessed him

and made him write like a madman



That guy was my muse



But I figured

she wouldn’t care to hear about that



Anyway, we didn’t go out for long

after that evening



She said we’re not compatible

because I’m too vanilla

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It’s been a rough rainy season

and rain always

put father in

the drinking mood



He drank more in this

rainy season than

ever before in his life



Mother’s missing teeth

and broken shoulder

were proof of that



Surprisingly

the old story about falling

down the stairs held up

with the doctors



Well, just like he messed

his wife up

the rainy season messed up

the roof of the house



He downed what was left of a bottle

of vodka and got the

ladder and a few tools

and went out



His son held the ladder for him



He always cursed

plenty when he worked on

something. He was cursing his

wife as he hammered at the

roof and said something

about his son not

being his



and the second best thing

about his fall

was that the son didn’t even have

to shake the ladder, as planned



Father just fell on his own

thanks to the vodka he

drank before climbing up there



The first best thing about

father’s fall was

that he landed on some

screwdriver in his pocket

and got stabbed in the kidney



The pain must’ve been

something to follow him

all the way to the afterlife

as he bled to death

and cried silently



The kid watched him,

watched his watering eyes,

and kicked dust in his face

and went back inside the house



They waited until it was too

late and then

called the emergency number