Okay, but what if the neighbor is a known scumbag, a raging alcoholic, and your friend from Los Angeles comes to stay, tells you she’s in love, and it turns out it’s this guy. What if you are out of town and she stays in your house, but it turns out it’s also him and some of his caveman friends and they break the tile counter and a table and somehow manage to leave red wine stains on the wall, which is adobe, for Christ’s sake, not just something you paint over.
What if she says, “I think he’s seeing someone else,” and you have no idea, but could easily confirm this, ending the whole nonsense, but you don’t and you also don’t tell her that he’s a dealer because he’s never been convicted, because he can afford a great attorney, who happens to be your friend Carl, who tells you, yeah, he’s guilty as shit, but you don’t pass this on because you are supposed to believe he’s innocent until proven guilty, plus she’s running around town glowing, really glowing, and telling strangers she’s in love.
What then?
---
First published by The San Francisco Library's Poem-a-Day Project (2021).
No comments:
Post a Comment