all life is suffering
i don’t know where calvin found her
because he was always so upstanding
and his mother tried her hardest to keep him
locked up on friday nights
but there she was in our booth
dressed in black with black hair and black lipstick
a bloody mary in her hand
and a clove cigarette in the ashtray
i’m a wiccan, she said
i can do all kinds of spells and curses
are you responsible for my two year sex drought? i asked
maybe, she said.
she sucked on her drink and then sucked on her smoke
she winked at me
and everything around us smelt like cinnamon
you mean you don’t believe in jesus? calvin asked
i believe in the environment around us
and the magic of sex, she told us
we believe that religion and magic and wisdom are all united
you don’t know many catholics do you? i said
catholics will kill you where you stand
there’s a reason for your two year drought, she said
you’re angry, you’re not open enough
then she winked at me again
i started thinking about having sex with this wiccan
this wicked witch of pittsburgh
chanting naked in the woods
drinking deer blood and dancing around a fire
sacrificing whole neighborhoods of working stiffs
then praying to the moon
before we made tantric love on the cold ground
a little less angry
a little bit more open
her black lipstick on my neck
when she said, calvin, we do it just like everyone else
in committed, loving, monogamous relationships
then she winked at me a third time
before i got up to get another beer
and a shot of cheap bourbon
pumping dollars into the jukebox
thinking that only the buddhists
have never let me down.
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