Sympathy

I got groped by a woman at the store who thought I was a cop.

I can still feel her fingers in my hair

and her grip on my side.

She had a wet mouth, I could hear it.

Warm and wet was never a concern until today.

But her breath had cooked my ear drum.

“What is your name?”

“Brandon.”

I looked down at her from across her grasp and saw myself.

Sunglasses indoors look good on a woman,

as I wondered if she was hiding her gaze.

I only saw mine.

“You cops. You need to stop arresting me!”

“Okay.”

I grabbed the drink on the counter and the cashier’s attention,

Who quickly shot me a concerning look.

No time to address it.

When I pushed her aside with some force I felt a twinge in my neck.

Aggression and arousal was my later interpretation.

The door swung open almost as fast as the barrage of words that flew from her mouth.

I don’t know what they were,

But mine were,

 “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

The car was close and work not much further.

The drive there was silent.

With my hood cloaking my head 

trapping the heat from her fingers in my hair.

Wednesday in New York

A cold sip of seltzer water.

How I start my day. 

Wishing it was brew.

View from the second story window.

An old man stabbed down the street. 

Cops checking cameras.

Keeping people safe.

I couldn’t care less.

Zeldin or Hochul either way.

Won't change a damn thing.

Trump won’t face charges.

Might as well give up trying.

Slime always slips away. 

70 degrees in November.

Hot air in my face.

It’s just another day.

click click

I never learned how to type.

Isn’t that absurd?

Going to a Catholic school for 9 years, they tried to teach me a few things.

One of which is that God is a real prick

and we just have to be cool with it.

Another is just how wrong most of my daily activities are:

Masturbation, drinking, smoking, swearing, etc.

But they didn’t teach me how to type.

Actually, as I wrote that statement it started to click.

Good luck figuring out how to type porn into a computer.

Those clever bastards