From An Unpublished Collection of 117 Poems Based on 117 Phobias:
Number 32, Deipnophobia-  Fear of Dinner Conversations.
=========================================


I'm eating soup. He's
talking about the "Goddess"
in the history of religion
and I know what's going on
already. Don't you?

She nods, seldom speaking
as he moves on, discussing
his preference in beads:
"I hate it when they're all
fuckin' tumbled. I like it
when my stones are raw."

Now I know he's trying
to talk about sex, in that
encoded, "how to get
chicks" course-speak
you get from Rolling Stone-
"I like roller coasters, too,"
they tell you to say;
"I like any ride that's fast
and hard."

Oh. They do it all the time,
and its a lot more subtle
when you aren't expecting it.
I wonder if she knows,
or if she is going along with it
because she knows
that's just how this shit
works.

I go back to my soup
and my eyes water
from the spices, alone
I swear to you.

-e.





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