I Wrote This

I meet myself, sans escort, at the bus stop. The day long with hypotenuse. You look good. No refined sugars, his reply. I’m thinking of going to sing karaoke at the bar tonight. Is that right? he looks at me, I hope it’s like a movie sequence. We love each other like kidneys. Oh yes, I’m still doing algebra, I say. With his out-step, on the sidewalk, he is scratching a game of tic-tac-toe. I win. The anger is up-tempo. You always get the giddy-up, he says, you always get the hieroglyph. That was satisfying, I say. In the undulating way of cows his jaw goes up and down. I’m an animal, I say. His bus arrives. I board.