A wholesome weekend in
Connecticut with a
wholesome single mom
who works two nursing
jobs to send her girls
through the best schools.
Their cat, they have three,
brought a dead rat to the
door. The rodent lay wet and
decapitated in the grass.
"The cats knew we were having guests
and thought to bring a larger gift."
I loaded the Mercedes with
furniture, ate shrimp at lunch,
and drove off from the woman
who works from 6am until 11:30pm,
seven days a week.
Making love at chez mere has its
own thrill.
"I am bleeding," she said when we
were between the sheets and I
felt the cat's hairs tickling my
over-sensitive snazolla.
My car hunched in the drive,
wet and heavy, encased in the
night's fetal sac.
Two boys, the Olivera's, stood
in the woods to peep on the middle-
aged blonde next door.
"What are you to boys doing in the woods?"
queried dad in a loud voice.
"She's got kids!" Said my love.
"My mother has credit problems," she said.
"Upon divorce, she cut up her side of the
credit cards, but the report says she
is in deep trouble, that she moved with
her dead husband among many halfway houses,
in and out of jail, into a drunken death,
head broken in a bathroom late at night."
Her dead alcoholic ex-husband even
fucks her from the dead. That's what
I call a living memory: the TRW credit
report.
Amen.