November 8, 2016

The Red


Like a virus,

A disease

It plagued my sleep

Mayhem in the streets,

In the homes

And I woke up




Silver Fox of Chicago

They called him “The Silver Fox of Chicago”.  I didn’t buy it. Perhaps because I was older than the other girls. They found him intriguing. I mostly just found him absurd. He usually pulled up in his Ferrari each week. His head full of silver hair, green eyes glistening against a Floridian tan and the body of a former athlete who went to the gym five times a week. Okay, I’ll admit, he was attractive. But the silver fox of an entire city?! I think he made it up himself.  Say it. Believe it. Become it.

As the hostess lead him to his table and all the young hotties shouted “Hello!”,  I quietly chuckled to myself, “the silver fox of  ‘viagra triangle’.”  At that moment,  his  eyes caught mine. Suddenly I felt it.  He must have been a confused by the look on my face.  My chuckle becoming a faint smile.  He nodded slowly, a “what’s up?” and quickly I remembered why I found him absurd in the first place. A caricature of a man; who did he think he was?

My shift was over and I  had to pass him on my way to the bathroom.  “Excuse me Miss.” he spoke.

I turned to look at him. “Yes?” I replied. (In my head: “yes mr. silver fox?” ha!).  I thought he was going to hit on me but all he wanted was more water.

“I’ll get your waitress on my way out, sir.”

While in the bathroom, I overheard the twenty-somethings talking about all the “money” that was there.  Day after day, I saw them: young women coming into the restaurant looking for the “money”.  I almost secretly admired them for being so flippant about it.  After-all, the older men who frequented the place knew. It’s what they wanted too. I pushed past the girls prettying themselves in the mirrors to wash my hands.  And left.

When I came out, I noticed the waitress at his table flirting, naturally.  As she walked away, again I heard:  “Miss, excuse me?”

Was he talking to me? I was afraid to turn around. Afraid I was mistaken and if I looked, he’d think that I was interested. But turn around I did. He motioned for me to come over.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

“My shift is over.”

“Oh….. well…. would you care to join me?”

“All alone today?” I inquired. Truthfully, I said that to minimize the self induced power in his head; reminding him he was indeed “alone”.  I was hoping someone blew him off, not because I wanted him, but because someone had to let the arrogant bastard down.

But something came over me. Wasnow joining the ranks of the intrigued? Or was I just in need of a drink?

Two, three, four drinks later and we were laughing; discussing everything from adventures to future endeavors.  He seemed curious about me and he was smart. Very smart.  How could I have judged him before we even had a conversation?  He invited me home and as I was not one of those girls, I hesitated. But the martinis and the intrigue got the best of me. Besides, he really was nice.

Inside his bedroom, I was still conflicted. My heart raced. But my excitement quickly waned when I realized that It fluttered for a moment, magnificent in its struggle, then wilted and lay still.

Daily Prompt: I Can’t Stay Mad At You

Funny that this topic should come up today because yesterday, I was thinking about the very same.

I have a large capacity for forgiveness and I forget to the extent where I don’t allow it to ruin my forgiving nature. In other words, put it behind you so it doesn’t interfere with moving forward. But if an offense is stored somewhere in your memory, where it can be called up in the future, is that really forgetting?

I Can’t Stay Mad At You
Believe me, how I’ve tried
The thing we have to do
is love and compromise.

It may sound simple, yet
I’ve seen this road before
a large capacity
to forgive but forget ? …..

In my mind, there’s a bank
where conflict may be stored
when I reach my breaking point
that’s it, I’m done. Forewarned!