Getting Laid
On a bus
They met
Man coming home from work
His hands still smelling of grease and cleanser
Woman coming home from work
Her smell sour from sweat of fear
Both knew their jobs were precarious
Holding on to them by a thin strand of interest
Almost letting go
Something so seductive about fear
Self-destruction seems like a ride on a Ferris wheel
The hard slow pressing against effort
The precipice, the decision, the moment
Where nothing and everything seems possible
Where letting go and giving up pulls
As much as staying up
The dive down looms and the taste is electric
The sick sense of loosing grasp of everything
A drug so intense, almost killing the fear
And then the slow and faster decline
Where everything falls away
Pieces of life and meaning shear off
Faith in the fall and nothing else
And the sudden slam of speed
Some laugh at the freedom
Some sob at the loss
Some cling to something fabricated
Or something holy, something divine
Icarus was a sexy man
Pandora was so completely alluring
And the sweet promise of unattainable goals
What can a man say to a woman?
What can a woman say to a man?
When the sun shines too bright
And the box of the other person is unopened
Beckoning, waiting, begging to released.
October 21, 1998
