Cold Period

Cold Period


I have a cold. I have a period.
Elle’s pissed I came back from my two-week
Residency tired, distant, odd.

I’d heard affairs were common, too weak
To roam to rumor, though I admit pretty girls
At the podium, on a forum or a squeak

Down a dorm hall, lead me to their urls.
When I got home, I started to cough, ah choo!
Back kissed. My legs in a Buddhist curl,

I catch my back before I reveal who
It was who might undo me. My nipples hard,
Till that moment I didn’t have a clue.

I’m a basket case. I make shitting hard.
I blame this on menopause. Elle says I’m thick-
Headed; I should clean the house, rake the yard.

Last night’s soda reminds me metallic tabs click,
Then crunch, a thousand geyser fizzes
Releasing sparkle neon dots. Kinda dizzy, slick

From considering an affair, one of the girls a Mrs.,
Closer to my age than even Elle –
She can’t say I was after younger “chippies.”

Nothing happened. There’s nothing to tell.
I might chew on the scenery, melt to my knees
Till my hips hurt. “I’m so tired, Elle,”

I lied. I leaned back to the air, a little dizzy,
Then I swear, a spirit caressed its tilt. “Please,”
I said, wanting Elle. Then, I called her Lizzie.