Shiver me timbers.

“I don’t wanna fight, but…”

I see her clenched first
and almost duck a punch
as she slams the car door
and flips over the bonnet
with the furry of a hornet

We fight out the front of the party

“You don’t support me, ever!
You mother fucker, I HATE you!
You are driving me CRAZY.”

She runs into the party and
we sit at the table as if every
thing is okay.

In bed that night I sneak in late
and feel the cold soles of her feet
against my thighs and she murmurs
half asleep that she is

just stressed.

I tell her I understand
And in my head I plan a scheme.

It goes like this;

sell my car for,
like, 25 grand

– right?

Then take out life insurance
and move to shack in Olinda
and drink my self to death.

While we spend my last days
making love and looking
through antique shops
in the forest.

I tell her I can’t sleep


So I get out of bed and start a list.

I whisper to her sleeping
face that I have big plans in my
head and I need to write them down.

I say.

“Its okay,
I’m a man, sweetheart.
I can manage this.”

On the couch I mix some Bourbon
with milk cause it’s the only mixer
in the fridge
and
start a list on the back of the
T.V Weekly.

1. Show more emotional support.
2. Feed the cat every morning.

Shit, I say.

This isn’t going to be easy

but I recon ill
make it
alright.