lean in

i watch him massage
her head from behind my phone
for a bit too long.

we don't laugh like that.
why is he taking so long ?
she was a WALK-IN.

when she finally
leaves, i slither back to my chair,
feeling dejected.

"she's so insincere,
i hate her,"  he whispers and
flicks hair from my neck.

in my dream, Jean couldn't catch a break.

"but honestly, who
would wear this thing ?" she's holding
the thong between

her first two fingers.
no one's listening, probably
because this is not

appropriate meal
time talk.  "Jean watched TV the whole
time she babysat

last night, Mom" the boy
declares.  the little fucker
just ratted her out.

"Raw is best, but wet will do"

She's our cat guru
and pretty much the only
person I'll allow

in our apartment
unchaperoned.  She commands
an authority

regarding felines
that affords her such blind trust.
Funnily enough,

she is also one
of the few people from whom
I'll accept any

criticism, though
it is wacky and poorly
delivered.  She's one

of those 'better with
animals than people' types
which only draws me

to her more.  I find
her fascinating, and seek
out her approval,

which will never come.
"JUMP !" she says.  I say "how high ?"
"That costs you extra,"

she says. "Oh, of course,"
I say, and neatly tuck the
cash into a card

with sunbathing frogs
on it.  "You really should get
this set of teeny

tiny spoons to use
when concocting the insane
herbal remedy

you give your sick cat
per my advice."  And I say,
"no problem. I'll have

them by Saturday."
And then, "I'd be lost without
your guidance, Phyllis."

She stares through me and
says, "I don't do this for you.
I do it for him."

the rental

it becomes like a
geode -- furniture, art, pets,
memories, books, time

crystallize to the
walls, compounding in value;
you can never leave.