Flavor Of The Month
by Cynthia Ruth Lewis


I couldn't tell you during dinner; didn't want
to ruin the atmosphere

Dear, I've so much to tell you but I don't know
how, even though the endless margaritas were doing
their damndest to loosen my tongue and help me tell
you all about the things I've done but it seemed
inappropriate at the restaurant so I waited until we
left and when you pulled into a Chevron to fill the
tank I excused myself to empty mine, and, locked inside
the tiny stall I pissed out the brunt of my courage; a
yellow stream of alcohol and truth christening the chipped
and cracked bowl and when I finished I walked over and stood
humbly by the ice cream section, watching you carefully
through the glass, oblivious and innocent, knowing well
how you would take the news, trying to regain my confidence
somewhere between the Ben & Jerry's and Haagen-Dazs, the
truth now full and bitter at the tip of my tongue as I
pushed my way through the door out into the harsh and
unforgiving sun, all the while trying so hard to remember
how things used to be between us and fearing what's

to come






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