Thursday, April 9, 2015
I dreamed the phone rang, her voice
was on the other line, talking dirty
just like she used to when she was still alive.
Just as I began to grow aroused,
a thousand flesh-colored spiders
began to pour from the phone,
scuttling all across my flesh
wearing fishnets and stilettos
doing kicks and I woke up
erect and screaming
my entire body covered
in tiny heel prints
The HR assistant at work that day
wore a tight black and white checkered skirt.
Her hair was frizzed out to here.
I asked her if her ankle was feeling any better.
She stuck out her leg and twirled her black pump.
"It was so swollen up, it looked like a loaf of bread,"
she said. I stared at her leg in its black stocking,
tried to imagine a loaf of bread at the end of it.
It was kind of hard to picture. She beamed, a wide smile
full of gleaming teeth. I smiled back nervously
and left the office in a cold sweat.
As I crossed the bridge over the expressway
heading home after work, I saw a girl
in a tiny scrap of skirt
and boots with a long stretch
of creamy white thigh in between
striding behind me,
and I clawed my way up
over the chain link fence
and hurled myself off
into the churning current
of rush hour traffic.