poem of the day 09.26.09

baked potato

she talks to me
she asks me how the weather is
outside
or if i had a good weekend
all the inane highways of conversation
that makes a man lose
his appetite.
she asks
if i’m having a baked potato
for lunch
because i usually do.

one time i told her that
i liked baked potatoes
because they were
cheap and easy
like my women
it was a lie
i was never good at scoring
cheap women
but she ran with it
and i’ve heard that joke
said back to me
more times than i thought
possible by now
in one human life.

i’ve only known her for three months.

she says
the baked potatoes make
the room smell good
and she asks me why i don’t watch television
like everyone else does.
she asks me this while blasting
law and order reruns
she asks me if i still read books
while i wonder why she
doesn’t get a baked potato for herself
and just leave me alone.

i told her today i walked manhattan
for ninety minutes
trying to find a place for lunch
with the last few dollars that
i had on me.
i had to settle for two plain bagels
at a dunkin’ donuts
she said
what? no baked potato today?
i looked at her
and said
nope, the world ran out
of fucking baked potatoes
today.
can you believe it?

she laughed and laughed at this.
i guess it’s
my new joke.
regardless, i’ll probably be hearing it
for the next three months
in between episodes
of law and order
whether or not i have
a baked potato for lunch
a full course meal
or a bowl of hot water
sitting in front of me
something else
that my stomach won’t let
me get down
without a fight.