I sort of liked him not much taller than me, twitchy. Black straggly hair. Shirt buttoned up. But I was hiding and the phone wouldn’t stop. I picked it up to shut it up. I could hear voices and depressed the off to conceal reception. Looked at the ceiling. Waited then crawled back on my belly to the door. To make sure he wasn’t still outside of the sliding glass. I could see him inside. On the floor in the living room. Waiting for me.
He’s picking weeds again, but not the reams attacking our raised bed, our food. So to express myself, I took the heaviest spade I could find AND a running start and made a lasso motion to blow out his hair.
He startled and ran like a girl forgetting the decade ago how he got drunk and choked me. Or locked me out of the house to sleep in my car. Taking my G4 tower and shattering the passenger window so I would have no shelter. It was sorta funny.
But I’m no Joan Burroughs
pose with honey crisp scalp
snapped with forgiveness
Have I told you I’m not opposed to Sharia Law entirely? Only the inequity of men not being covered up. THEY turn me on and I find myself uncontrollably tempted to rape their mouths with my broomstick.
Did I show you my new hat? Where else but from the Amazon.
For extra coverage it keeps away mosquitos and is good for fishing.