White blood cells die in a viral massacre.
I act as referee and check sedimentation.
Someone plays the piano.
He’s another me; smelled but rarely seen.
“How long have you been like this?” asked the once concerned professional.
“Since I was an old woman,” I reply.
GREETINGS THRILL SEEKERS! BOY HAVE WE GOT A SURPRISE FOR YOU! SEND PRIVATE INFO AND DON’T FORGET YOUR ZIP CODE!
94117…I send an email and do a dozen sit-ups.
I like perfection and I know that I am.
The hair on my legs is perfect, just as Walt Whitman says it is.
I invite the pianist to rub his face across the stubble.
“I’ve never had sex with a feminist,” he says. “Who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”
“Let’s do it sideways,” I reply. “That way we’re equal.”