bitter is an ice cream best unscooped

we sat on a monument that looked like a gravestone
in downtown los angeles next to city hall
it was hot and we were eating chicken kabobs
in the shade.
it was a thursday, it was farmers market, it was the first day of summer
untechnically but pretty much.
she was young and beautiful and idealistic and dipping her kabob into her small dallop of humus
as i went on about this or that in the nastiest bitterest most heartbreaking way
what have i become i thought to myself as it dawned to me under the fumbling fingertips from a thai girls massage
who is this creature speaking from inside?
why have i cashed out any hope of hope any joy in love any belief that the future is uncertain
when did i become a knowitall
and sad?
i spewed and rambled and brought nothing good to anything
i wasnt listening or helping or adding or encouraging
but i did notice this little boy playing on the monument
headstone, gravemarker we all shared
hed poke his head around hers and smile at me
as i dissed childbirth and creating mini me’s
fucker couldnta been cuter
and thankfully didnt know english.

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