Confessions by the Stoop

Confessions by the Stoop by Jana Astanov

I have never sipped on a mix like that
the place was empty just us
we got all sorts of fancy sounding drinks
in a bar run by a teacher in a local high school gym
a hole in the wall and genie in a bottle
the list was impressive the conversation slow

She talked about her mother
he talked about how she shouldn’t start psychotherapy
with the local shrink who tells everyone about all there is
I agreed
disappointed he had nothing to say about his daily job
jerking over XIX century American literature
as if there were no social media updates to be made
just words and thoughts without hashtags
envious of life without the net
jealous of some distant countryside
that would turn me mad
that would make me want to tell all my secrets
to the local shrink cunt
or run naked in the woods
proving to be such an embarrassment
to my husband’s social standing
foolish deranged femme unfit to be part of the crowd
alcoholics and loonies in their professor-
or perhaps I got it wrong
the wife was me trying to get out of some other hood
get out of insanity no id caller phone calls stream of emails and texts
get out of Jesus preaching assholes with their exorcisms
and their klonopin topped adderoll menu of post apocalyptic American fix

The killer Myrtle-Wyckoff came in a can of coconut milk
I said I knew what my problem was
I should never again date a Gemini

or live in a country run by one
thinking that people around are only half empty shots of mezcal

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