mosquitoes
the bars always filled on the weekends, so
when i went out, i’d do it on the weekdays,
when crowds of people, crowds of men,
crowds of women, crowds of crowds,
would dare never step foot within a bar.
they never came in because some of these poor souls
had work in the morning, had something worth a
damn to wake up to, a beautiful woman, a lovely set of
kids (blonde hair, blue eyes, light skin), a stable
check every other week.
fuck, as i drink, fuck, as i die,
i can hear the bells for whom
they toll for.
“another round?” death asked me
looking at me, looking like any other man,
eye blood shot from a fight in his early twenties, a scar
just above his lower lip where his second wife decked him
and left him for broke and to serve alcohol for the poorly
drunkards of the night.
“shit, i had to be home already,” I tell him.
“wife problems?”
“hardly. girlfriend.”
“just about the same thing. you’ll know you’re married when you wake up and want to kill the woman you love, the mother of your daughter, as she takes in morning air.”
“sounds like you had a great time in your first marriage.”
“hardly,” he said. “she ran out on me and went to marry some carpenter.”
he poured beer in my glass and I drained it in seconds.
“another?” he said.
I managed a nod …
when I got to my apartment, i saw her mazda parked next to my neighbors’
whatever-the-fuck-he-drove-to-work Ford.
I delicately got out of my car
stumbled on the staircase
clicked LOCK on the key of my car
and knocked.
I half-expected her to answer
but when she did
she did it with a voice.
“you son of a bitch! you have some nerve! is this the sort of shit i have to look forward to with you?” she said as i stood out there,
feeling the mosquitoes landing on my warm, wet flesh and
circling around my ears, my eyes. my mouth.
“baby … the bartender told some great stories about his ex-wife. he almost killed his first wife in her sleep. can you imagine?”
she let out a huge grunt and went in
began to pack her bras, panties, shirts,
everything she could get her hands on, and
stood under the only working bulb in my apartment.
“i hope leaving you will teach you to love someone’s appreciation, seth. i gave you everything and then some. you’ve gone and cheated several times, lied to me and gone drank yourself half to death every fucking night. i’m finally fed up with all of it.”
i went in and let those prick mosquitoes dance on in.
“go on then. get your fucking shit and leave. like i need you,” I told her.
she threw one of her books at me. i wasn’t looking, so it cut me right under my right eye. blood started down my cheek and landed on my open hand.
“you BITCH!” I hurried to the restroom. it was dark, but i could make out the lines of black lines running down my face, my neck, drenching my shirt and my sink, now.
“you damn well deserve it, you cheap bastard!”
and then the door opened and slammed. my father and mother’s portrait in my living room fell and glass shattered on impact.
i ran cold water, due to the lack of a heating tank for the past couple weeks,
and wet my face and cleaned up the cut and the sink and floor.
I went out into the now empty
apartment and heard the 5 mosquitoes
dancing around.
as i picked up the pieces of glass, cut myself by accident,
and look at my father’s face for a few moments,
i knew i just lost the one woman
that had gone through
hell for
love.
damn, she had a lot of heart, this woman of 19, eyes to the sky, to the moon,
always the moon, never astray.
a mosquito
landed on my arm
and i watched him
carefully insert his needle in me
and take what did not belong to him
without my permission.
raping my flesh,
raping
my flesh.
i smacked my arm and
picked him off the puddle of blood on my palm.
1 down, i thought,
4 left dancing.
when i went out, i’d do it on the weekdays,
when crowds of people, crowds of men,
crowds of women, crowds of crowds,
would dare never step foot within a bar.
they never came in because some of these poor souls
had work in the morning, had something worth a
damn to wake up to, a beautiful woman, a lovely set of
kids (blonde hair, blue eyes, light skin), a stable
check every other week.
fuck, as i drink, fuck, as i die,
i can hear the bells for whom
they toll for.
“another round?” death asked me
looking at me, looking like any other man,
eye blood shot from a fight in his early twenties, a scar
just above his lower lip where his second wife decked him
and left him for broke and to serve alcohol for the poorly
drunkards of the night.
“shit, i had to be home already,” I tell him.
“wife problems?”
“hardly. girlfriend.”
“just about the same thing. you’ll know you’re married when you wake up and want to kill the woman you love, the mother of your daughter, as she takes in morning air.”
“sounds like you had a great time in your first marriage.”
“hardly,” he said. “she ran out on me and went to marry some carpenter.”
he poured beer in my glass and I drained it in seconds.
“another?” he said.
I managed a nod …
when I got to my apartment, i saw her mazda parked next to my neighbors’
whatever-the-fuck-he-drove-to-work Ford.
I delicately got out of my car
stumbled on the staircase
clicked LOCK on the key of my car
and knocked.
I half-expected her to answer
but when she did
she did it with a voice.
“you son of a bitch! you have some nerve! is this the sort of shit i have to look forward to with you?” she said as i stood out there,
feeling the mosquitoes landing on my warm, wet flesh and
circling around my ears, my eyes. my mouth.
“baby … the bartender told some great stories about his ex-wife. he almost killed his first wife in her sleep. can you imagine?”
she let out a huge grunt and went in
began to pack her bras, panties, shirts,
everything she could get her hands on, and
stood under the only working bulb in my apartment.
“i hope leaving you will teach you to love someone’s appreciation, seth. i gave you everything and then some. you’ve gone and cheated several times, lied to me and gone drank yourself half to death every fucking night. i’m finally fed up with all of it.”
i went in and let those prick mosquitoes dance on in.
“go on then. get your fucking shit and leave. like i need you,” I told her.
she threw one of her books at me. i wasn’t looking, so it cut me right under my right eye. blood started down my cheek and landed on my open hand.
“you BITCH!” I hurried to the restroom. it was dark, but i could make out the lines of black lines running down my face, my neck, drenching my shirt and my sink, now.
“you damn well deserve it, you cheap bastard!”
and then the door opened and slammed. my father and mother’s portrait in my living room fell and glass shattered on impact.
i ran cold water, due to the lack of a heating tank for the past couple weeks,
and wet my face and cleaned up the cut and the sink and floor.
I went out into the now empty
apartment and heard the 5 mosquitoes
dancing around.
as i picked up the pieces of glass, cut myself by accident,
and look at my father’s face for a few moments,
i knew i just lost the one woman
that had gone through
hell for
love.
damn, she had a lot of heart, this woman of 19, eyes to the sky, to the moon,
always the moon, never astray.
a mosquito
landed on my arm
and i watched him
carefully insert his needle in me
and take what did not belong to him
without my permission.
raping my flesh,
raping
my flesh.
i smacked my arm and
picked him off the puddle of blood on my palm.
1 down, i thought,
4 left dancing.