< Pep Up!
Dr. Honeymoon met me at nine at Quatorze
in emerald silk with her hair up, ordered steak,
explained recombinant DNA
and did I see Joan Didion two tables away.
She has a patient who comes in for an AIDS test
every time he picks up a waitress.
“Six in seven weeks,” she says.
“I don’t know if he wants me to hold him or to scold him.”
Laughing, looking at her watch, hair coming undone
after a second scotch.
“Now tell me something that will embarrass you,”
she says, “and no excuses.”
“I got a tattoo when I was twenty-four so I’d never forget
I’m a fuck up. That’s all. And you?”
“I slept with Van Morrison. He’s this tall. But cute.”
Smiling full on and shifting her hips,
a bubble of spit glistenining on her lips.
published 9 October 2013