Stalling

nothing better, nothing worse-
so i'm stalling, rifling through my too-small purse
wondering what i should leave
at home, what i should bring. a gun?
to shoot one [or both] of us with? don't have one,
and don't think i'd bring it if i did,
but the thought was entertaining while it lasted.
i hesitate between chapstick
and lip tint, but decide it will look as if
i tried too hard. now it's just getting silly,
trying to choose between
Heavenly perfume or grapefruit bodysplash: i
toss everything on the bed, and leave it all.
the only things i always need
to keep close to me
are my wits and my heart-
arguably, i'm missing a bit of each.





This one is older than the last one! I've got new poems, really, but I went through one of my notebooks and found all these ones that I thought I posted but didn't.

Feeble

He said, “I know you want to, but I
don’t because it’s almost impossible for me to
find someone who likes
the things you do, and is gorgeous too.”
I walked him to the door, silently,
wanting to do the ridiculous thing
and comfort him, because
I knew what he meant. Instead I only said
goodbye, locked the door behind him,
and leaned feebly against it. There
was more, I’m sure, but
I don’t know where it went.





"Feeble" is one of those words that starts to sound ridiculous if you say it over & over.
.