a pd sampler
When my wife and I separated, we decided to split the dog half-n-half. Lengthwise, so each of us could enjoy at least half his little face, and have only half as much shit to deal with.
We are at, like, a dance. We are like wearing these new, like, tops. We put lipstick all around our mouths. We feel jealous of each other’s mouths but, like, that isn’t cool, so we keep it to ourselves. We don’t want to dance with anything chubby because it’s like dancing with our stepdads, or dancing with, like, some like weird baby grizzly boy. We are like, yuck.
I love you in the stillness, in the lack of happening, in the moment before crescendo. Let’s stay there together. Don’t move. Swear you won’t move.
Did you see that? That was the third nurse to go by. They’re rubbernecking, OK? They’re not used to seeing me with family. I get more visitors than most, but they’re all a certain type, you know. Well, maybe you don’t. You’re a sweet girl, I can tell
“I could see if your mother was at the wheel,” he’d say, a little slower and more nostalgic that time, because our mom was dead, and she had died in a car accident while he was driving. “If I see you boys even touch that strap,” he’d say. We’d inch our hands slowly back down to our sides. “That’s what I thought,” he’d whisper.
My optometrist works in a shop called Spectacular Spectacles. The name is clever enough. But there are so many redundant letters.