Conte, a journal of narrative writing.

I Couldn't Print This at Work
finally, a lovely day today
I know because I saw it
out the window
finally a lovely day today
you called your old assistant.
I feel cheated on.
is it not enough to be penned in
here with you, your name a cookie-cutter
for my voice, my fingers dispensing
your words? and after all, she left

but of course she'll meet you
for a drink and a free ticket to the theater...
Friday, expense day, I'll have to handle
the receipt          it will reek
of perfume I couldn't afford. out the window
meanwhile, spring.
the hangover medicine she kept
in the drawer is still there, if you'd like
to see it.


you are the worst, worse
than the landmine next door. you
are babyfat
patted together
with a neck like a pelican's beak
and delicate hands that dangle
from your cufflinks
if they're not picking
at your soft
red lips
you told me
to stop the crossword puzzles: fine
but you can't stop this -- after all
you told me: write everything down