Progressive Diner

In my twenties,
Solitary dining was a triumph.
At my well-positioned
table-for-one, I took
elegant bites of
grilled chicken salad
and judgmental sips of
Diet - always diet - Coca-Cola
while perusing my blackberry
to demonstrate that I was confident alone,
but desperately needed.

Now I am 31
And I choose my
table-for-one
outside so I can enjoy
the April weather.
I take my I-Phone out
because I am needed,
but I place it away from
my food -
close enough to see it
light up, but far enough away
that its urgent to-do's
do not disrupt my appetite.
I take my BLT out of
its squeaky white container
and add mayo to the white bread,
understanding that food paid for
is meant to be enjoyed.
I take a hasty bite and gulp water
to wet the desert of my
overly caffeinated mouth
on this 5:20 am kind-of-day.

I look around at tables of
companions, and I envy them . . .
Not because I need a crowd,
but because on this busy day
of posturing and have-to's,
I think I'd enjoy the unpurposed
conversation that comes
when you have lunch
with a friend.

Unapologetic

In the South
We women
Are overly apologetic.
I discovered this
When my mom
Here to help me
With my new baby
Apologized to her
Visiting Friend
About my noticeable
lack of
a Behind
I also noticed this
When one of my
Childhood Besties
Apologized to
Her Single Friends
For my thoughtless
References to my marriage
While attempting to relate
To them at one of those
awkward
spend-48-hours-with-
awesome-girls-you-don't-
know-bachelorette-parties.
Cut from the same cloth,
I have apologized for
my crying baby;
my shedding dog;
my wonderful but
not always mannerly
husband
(bless his heart!
he was raised in New York!);
my lying friend's
whoppers;
my boss's temper;
my mom and dad
who were not cool enough
to drink (you know,
it's just that alcoholism
runs in our family . . .)
And don't get me
started on myself:
my weight;
my house;
the fact that I sweat when
I am nervous or -
God-forbid -
hot;
my non-cooking;
my aversion to rude
people;
my ugliness;
my beauty;
my jobs botched and
my jobs well-done.

I am, in hindsight,
a professional
apologizer.

In the South
We women
Subscribe to the Bible
For the most part.
But I'm not sure that
This thing that looks
like humility
Is not decades of
oppression
Masked as a Virtue.
I'm also not sure
If it's not a little
Of our God-complex
rearing its prideful head.
Either way, its not
 as pretty
or as polite
as it seems.

I think I prefer
The style of
My unapologetic
roomies from law school
Those girls
could tolerate
house temperatures
frigid enough
to freeze
the shampoo
in the shower
And they
could also handle
Life without
Showering themselves
With insults.

I liked those girls!
Well - once I got
used to it.
And I have
a much
healthier relationship
with the one
who expressed anger by refusing to flush the toilet
than I do with
most of my oh-so-polite-
but-what-are-they-really-
thinking
Georgia girls
(and no -
she never
apologized -- not even
for the
number twos).

So I will not
now
apologize
for making
you read this
vertical essay
(ha! you thought
it was
a poem!)
nor will I apologize
for being
Southern
and raised
in this
grand but
OVERRATED
tradition.

Instead, I think
I will just
stop - both the
apologizing and the
essay -
before I accidently
apologize
again
(see previous
paragraph).

THE END

Tough Love

There is this thing
Called Tough Love
And this is what it looks like:

You watching
Someone you love
Hurting themselves
And acting like
They love the vice
More than they love you.

What's so tough about
"Just watching"?
Everything.
Especially when you know
it is all you can do.

Reflections of a Business Traveler

Dear Cover on My Hotel Bed:
Who has lain across your spread?
Whose tired feet have stretched their toes
Across your tacky patterned rows?
And whose bare bum - all red and bumpy
Has graced your surface - soft and comfy?
And how many late night indiscretions
Could you reveal in a confession?
And what of all those pay-per-views
That your bedmates have perused?

Oh Cover of My Squeaky Queen
When was the last time you were cleaned?
Something tells me "Not Today"
And so - this evening - let's part ways

I'll slide you off with pincher fingers
And head to the bath - lest your germs linger
(Pause - look around - gag and groan)

Dear Shower in my Borrowed Home . . .