independent woman

i first see you
in the supemarket
the squeaky clean floors reflect your denim demeanor.
we both reach for the last pack of trident gum
original flavor
because we share an appreciation for the classics.
and your hat is my favorite color: puke green,
and we both have a plentitude of arm hair in the same shade of
eastern european jew
and i like the way you carry yourself,
lightly,
casually,
as if you are dusting the florescent linolium with the hems of your ill-fitting jeans,
and so,
i reason,
sighingly,
we will make love.
i know this because i can imagine it
as clearly as i imagined the guy with the dreads
there was something about them that seemed thoughtful,
like they were matted with insights about the cosmos.
anyway, i'm over him.
Dreads and i imaginary-fucked in a college classroom
but Trident, we'll make love
in a park
on a camping trip,
sleeping under the stars.
you'll point out all the constellations
and say their names in latin,
and i'll resent you for this superior knowledge,
and, trying not to show it,
bury my face in your chest
maybe some nipple-kissing will occur at that point because my mouth will be right there and why else would it be there? and it'd be kind of awkward otherwise
and one thing will lead to another
blah blah blah
and then a month or two later,
i'll discover, at the most inopportune of moments,
that you hate the way my nails are always just a little dirty,
like they can't decide if they want to be dirty or clean,
just like i can't decide if i want to be an activist or a high school teacher. it's all very telling.
we'll be in the car, of course,
and you'll be driving,
because i can't drive and also because the scene is sadder that way,
so maybe it will also be night time
and raining.

anyway,
i'll bite my lip
and then i'll say,
o yea, well i hate the way your pants don't fucking fit
and you'll say,
it's really the brand of milk i drink
with the stupid cow on it,
like, do i really think that cow was raised cruelty-free?
does that really make me feel better about my nice ikea furniture?
and i'll say, ok, that didn't really make sense,
and, more importantly,
you remind me of that science teacher i hated in sixth grade
the one who stared
and always wore gray.
and you always reminded me of him
i just couldn't place it until the exact moment you mentioned the cow
but actually, you're EXACTLY like him
with your fucking earth tones
and penetrating glances.
and that makes you realize i kind of remind you of your sister
the one with the buck teeth
and the weird giggle
god, you hate that giggle
but you don't mention that in this moment
because, ya know,
that's kinda weird.
so we fall into silence.

and when you drop me off at home
i can tell by the way you don't look at me
and leave your knuckle on the gear shift when i walk out into the rain
it's the last time i'll see you.
we've both struck nerves, have too much baggage, brought up too many bad memories
and as i walk into my house, i look back, and see you through the rain-stained window,
popping another piece of gum inti your mouth,
shoving the wrapper into your baggy denim pockets.

fucking bastard.
i don't need you anyway.