Short Story Long

If I were anybody else I’d slither down

the nicotine corridor and not

smoke. I would lambast the high

road, involve you in a heist to pilfer Faberge eggs

then egg your house. I believe in buildings 

enclosing pace. I pace myself and pretend 

to be deep in divans as affordances 

where goodbye is the word for rent. 

Let's hit the drive-in and see Kenneth B. 

in the role of Hercule Poirot. We’ll eat popcorn, 

not one soft-boiled egg. If I’d wanted matching 

body chemistry I would not have pranced 

through the personals of social mead

and crossed the midline no one thought I could.