Acting
Like Parts of the Big OneHe said the world was flat
And because she loved him,
For quite a long time
She believed him.
But some years later
She noticed the edges of it
Beginning to curl behind her
And she mentioned this to him
Casually one afternoon.
He had to bite her head off then
Because he knew she'd sleep with it,
And he could never deal
With any kind of jealousy.
***
There were afternoons when
They'd both lie flat on their backs
Stretched out on the floor
And talk about the patterns
Behind their eyelids.
He said his textures moved
At just under 140 beats per minute.
She said hers had no rhythm
Because they just moved all the time.
They got to screaming
About this sometimes and
Demanding evidence and proof,
But nearly always she'd start yawning
And he'd have to play chess with it.
***
Waking up beside him
Made the back of her ears ache.
It could have been something
About the way he moved his feet
In circles all night long in the bed.
She'd tell him about this
Each and every day,
Believing eventually he'd fix it
Once he made the time and got round to it.
But the fixing never happened;
In fact things just got worse.
Until one day she woke up
In a doorway downtown,
Beside a brightly colored parrot
Who did nothing but curse.
***
During films and certain novels
Which he found to be engrossing
He had a persistent habit of rolling
His tongue inside his mouth
And making an odd clucking sound.
She thought this to be quite cute,
Even endearing,
And tried hard to emulate,
Until one day he snapped at her.
“Stop making that disgusting noise,”
He said, and exhaled heavily,
As though it had been irritating him
For nearly one hundred lifetimes.
***
Sometimes they would try sitting
Side by side on the couch.
He'd read his newspaper,
And she'd try hard to read her book.
Eventually while reading he'd find
An interesting or amusing story
Or something he thought to be
Worthy of note.
But each time he began to speak,
She'd sigh loudly, roll her eyes,
And lay down her book.
He'd then shred his paper into strips
And make a chain from which he'd hang
Until she cut him down with a kiss.
***
When they went out,
Which was nearly never,
She'd take his hand in the crosswalk
And sometimes rub his fingers.
His hand would hang limp in hers as though
It had nothing to say in the matter.
And if she didn't grip firmly
It was liable to fall back to his side.
One day she squeezed it really hard
And flung it back at him.
He lost his balance
And the machinery around him
Screeched to a halt;
It very nearly got the better of him.
***
“I like animals,” she said.
“I like zoos,” he said.
“Let's go see some animals at the zoo,”
She said in search of sympathy.
“I only like zoos
Where there are no animals,”
He said, being difficult.
And to pose a challenge.