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the worst that can happen
few things can compare
to it
The feeling of
being alone
at your job
that feeling when
no customer
walks in
no boss
or supervisor
not even
colleagues
perfect
sweet
solitude
You hope that
it lasts
for
as long as
possible
until the shift
ends
The worst thing that
can happen is
to have
some random
wannabe influencer
step in and
approach you with their
phone
while filming and
asking stupid questions
or attempting to
prank
you
or simply trying to
pick up
a fight for
their social media
content
May God
of the Universe
or any other higher power
out there
protect us
from such beings
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honesty, I had to look online for the meaning of the term
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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
rainy season damage
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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
Daydreaming as a profession 