She's Under The Eaves At The Bus Stop In The Rain.

"Bum a smoke?" he asks.
I reach into my Gucci bag
And pull out my cigarette case.
"They're Virginia Slims," I
Proclaim in my Most Menacing Feminist voice,
"I've come a long way, baby."
"That'll do." He lights one,
Hands me the case,
Rolls up the sleeve on his Armani shirt,
Plucks the cigarette from his
Mouth.

Momentarily, his bleak eyes sparkle.
He smashes the lit
End into his left wrist
An inch from the
Blue-green vein running
The length of his arm.
The sharp inhalation;
The slow, quaking exhalation.

Did his toes curl?

"What, you've never needed
A temporary release? A
Momentary escape from
The pain in your life?"
He asks. He looks down.
"Nice shoes," he comments
And is gone into the rain.

I think I want him.