The Ex

(Despite posting my second poem in a row, I've never been a huge fan of poetry. It's fun to try every now and again, though. This is actually an old poem from some time in my college days. Keep in mind, characters of a story/poem don't always represent the writers of said story/poem, even when the narrative is in first person. With that being said, I have no ill will towards any of my exes. I don't know if they'd say the same about me, but there you have it. Enjoy.)

The Ex

 

Wrapping my raggedy red and blue blanket around her body,

Sitting at the edge of my bed,

She reminds me why it was so good.

I force myself to remember reasons why it was so bad,

Her unexpected appearance being one.

This room is not for logical thought.

 

I walk downstairs to the family room

Where she lays on the loveseat,

Wearing her baggy great sweatsuit,

Legs hanging over the edge,

Honey-blonde hair in a pony-tail.

 

Why is it so hard to breathe as I look at her?

 

Being the ever-cool gentleman, I offer her a drink.

Being the ever-controlling bitch, she asks for one.

 

I know there is some rat poison lying around here somewhere.

 

No use, really.

Not against her mutant-healing factor.

Not that she knows what that is.

Then again, I don't know much about "Sex and the City." 

 

She thanks me for the drink,

Not with words, just a heart stopping look in her milk-chocolate eyes.

So beautiful. So caring. So sexy. So loving. So...

"What? No ice?"

So glad I dumped her.

 

"Sorry."

 

Not really.

I knew she would want ice.

She knew I knew.

Now we both know.

Know what?

Something, that's for sure.

 

I'm in control, I know that much.

 

Which way do I direct this chance encounter?

Towards the always-pleasant, yet somehow unfulfilling, positive?

Or the much easier, much more satisfying, negative?

 

I could tell her how I still yearn for what lies beneath her favorite gray sweatpants,

Or I could ask her why she wears the same ugly, ratty goddam thing every time I see her.

 

I could tell her how much I've missed seeing her perfect face every day,

Or I could tell her how many beautiful, buxom young women have been chasing me down.

 

I should tell her something.

 

What time is it anyway?

Isn't Sportscenter on?

 

"Can you pass the remote?"

 

She's gone.

Been that way for a while.

 

Oh look, "The Simpsons" is on.

Excellent.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.