Eve Rounds

on my walk to target

owning in a transitional neighborhood is like being part of an evolutionary experiment. where i was once afraid to walk eight years ago, i now only avoid after dark. i blink maybe one and a half times before heading out.

i’m dressed like a poor college student. my posture hunched because i’m hungry.
skater backpack larger than my torso
plenty of spray on sunscreen
dirty braids cheap sunglasses generic tank
hiking skirt of an unflattering length
and twenty year old tevas.

she’s dressed like a crack whore. her posture hunched because she’s a crack whore.
empty purse strap tightly wound about her wrist
frizzy dark “hair” with under eye circles to match
“silk and “lace” cami “fur” jacket despite eighty degree sun
mens dress pants from the thrift store three blocks south
and nothing on her feet

she propositions me.
because she’s a crack whore.
which inexplicably makes me feel attractive in my own garb and carriage.
which makes me feel ashamed.
but i get over it about two blocks south.

so i walk past the newly remodeled mcdonalds
where people of all vocations wait in the “drive thru” for way too long
only to pull over immediately and eat in the parking lot
blocking all other incoming “drive thru” patrons.

so i shop for boring things.
contact solution dental floss toilet paper.
i attempt to be even chattier than the check out gal
because that seems like a fun sub experiment.
conclusion: i do not have more things to say than cathy comic strip of isle 7.

i’m famished.
so i pull myself over into the shade
just outside yet out of the way of the entrance
to eat a string cheese while a determined pudgy man
tries to convince me to join the new car sharing program from enterprise.
“i have a car.” which he doesn’t believe.
“i just felt like walking.” which he doesn’t believe.
probably because someone desperate enough to eat target brand dairy products
on the nasty streets of uptown tend not to be much for exercise.

i “farmers walk” home up a different street.
an evenly distributed backpack double strapped across my chest
and acting as my rather wimpy kettle bells
a twelve roll in my right hand the few refrigerated items in my left
heel to toe heel to toe abs tight shoulders back
maintaining proper posture.

the neighborhood street is plush and welcoming
with cute little pairs of dogs
and evidence of proud gardeners.
i inhale fresh floral and herbs.

i arrive at my back door smiling.
leaving everything even the eggs on the floor of my kitchen
just inside yet out of the way of the entrance
i rush over to my keyboard
to type this.

most of this story is true.
my tevas were the proud purchase of a teenager.
the crack whore was a crack whore who boosted my confidence.
macdonald’s does suck.
we all know how serious i am about cheese.
i do have a car.
i could have forgotten to grab the opti free. but i didn’t. i chose to buy some “natural” moisturizing cleanser for my eyes.
also i have really good dental hygiene. so yes. two types of floss appealed to me.
some stuff is “embellished” sure.
because
conclusion: words can be just as exquisite as change.

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards

love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we

Twins

It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.