The Ballad of Existing in Santa Monica
Let me tell you about just existing in a place where people don’t want you let me tell you about Santa Monica lost saint and what you lost! and 2010ish and a trendy restaurant and my lower back all fucked up from the car accident ten years prior because my pain was not a family priority not a line item to pay off but a lesson: a “serves you right!” for living in my hometown and not yearning for suburbiopia and anyway I am fat, not “big fat” but “small fat” my body not California nervosa but California bitchweed (Latinx but not in the Latin – you understand!) and I am bisexual, with a fresh sidecut hanging out with friends we ordered okay food and the chairs are really awful not made for comfort, or with any love but MONEYMONEYMOVEYOURASS in their bones I gotta get up! gotta stretch! go go! go go! free! my! spine! so I did! and I stood outside and gazed at the traffic and passersby and daydreamed a while, thinking words up WHEN!!! “EXCUSE ME, ARE YOU GOING TO SMOKE?” and lo! there stood a pregnant woman! holding her belly and peering hot eyes at me! and though bemused/annoyed (what about me spoke: smoke!?) I was honest (begrudgingly!) so I said: “No.” “BECAUSE I AM PREGNANT!” she said. I was confused, silly dreamer! “Yes!” I said helpfully. “I can see that!” she did not appear to like my answer? “I’m not smoking!” I added, hoping maybe she just needed a reminder? she was confused now, but still ANGRY AT ME “AND I’M SITTING RIGHT OVER THERE!” she pointed at a table so I grinned at her friends and they looked uncomfortable she had more to go! a speech! about health risks, but I don’t care. I know more about carcinomas than she spits at me her tapas breath making my grin wider and wider I stare back out at the street. I try to remember my word thread before this rando tangled it all up when she needs to inhale again: “What does that have to do with me?” I say. her curse breaks! her speech runs empty! she looks a little afraid now and forever she staggered back to her seat unable to plant a tiny paper flag from her mocktail into my joy I took a long time longer than she likes I stood and watched stood and watched and I smiled and mourned the poem that you could’ve gotten instead of this
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