Idiot box

I am rooting through the trash bin

Of my discarded friendships

Balled up like so many old Kleenex

Some of them bloody

Some worn thin

Trying to figure out what happened

There were Alicia, Christine and Mandy

Who got boyfriends and decided they didn’t need me

And perhaps left with the thought

That I was some sort of closeted, platonic lesbian

Just because I liked them so much

Then there was Drake

who in his sex alone was different

He would recite Sylvia Plath

From memory and edit my poetry

I’d drunkenly ask him to go skinny dipping

I discarded his Kleenex

After crying into it

The result of an illwilled

Academic argument

And now there is Lavinia

Sitting in the corner of the cafe

With pigtails and a sour expression on her face

Who says I’m so sick of this mysogynistic idiot box of a graduate degree

It’s to the point that I’m flirting with misandry

She is chewing open mouthed and spitting rage

We have an engaging dinner

Then she demurs, so I pay


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