Sweet Little Nothings

Dare to cross the line

He walked the line,
she crossed the line.
He was the goody-2-loafers
(sans the penny),
she, the rebel in hot pink espadrilles.
She smoked (chicken & every other kind of flesh)
& drank (root beer & ginger ale)
& stayed out late at the Internet cafe,
writing the stories that got her into trouble
but only because they got others into trouble.
She was a reporter first,
a writer second,
so that when they met at a poetry reading
at The End of the Line cafe,
she taught him to tell his truth
through the style he preferred—
a truth he first had to live.

Venutians + Martians = Earthlings

He says red;
she says maroon.

He says, “I want sex”;
she says, “Let’s make love.”

She says, “I’m not in the mood”;
he says, “It won’t take long.”

He says, “I want fun stuff”;
she says, “I want nice things.”

He says he’s having a bad day;
she says she’s depressed.

She says, “He’s so sensitive”;
he says, “That guy is fem.”

He says, “He’s okay-looking, I guess”;
she says, “She is gorgeous.”

He says, “That’s a skirt!”;
she says, “It’s a kilt.”

She says, “It’s not good enough”;
he says, “It’s fine.”

He says, “I’ll do it later”;
she says, “When?”

He’s Impractical Jokers
she’s Big Love.

He’s the hardware store;
she’s the craft store.

He’s sports and cars;
she’s politics and poetry.

they still have fun together,
for it’s like finding that
perfect spot on the beach . . .
You never want to leave.