I never believed that AIDS was God's punishment for being gay
Or that other STD's or pregnancy was ``getting what you deserved for
But I didn't even believe in God then--only I didn't believe
And I just can't believe there is a God--but I know there are
``It's not that I don't like him,
I just don't think he makes her happy.''
``What about you?''
``I just don't like him.''
``No. What about you---are you happy?''
happy
happy
am I happy?
``Sure,'' I say
but--
is ``not miserable'' happy?
happy?
``Sure.''
happy
``And you?'' I ask.
``Happy?''
Putting in those hard wood floors done in front Bathroom needs
work John's promotion The dog's in heat Carrie's new pool
Haven't heard back about the adoption. . .
Oh well, then
Steve's thesis I'm writing Interesting work at the woman's
prison
My dog's better Nancy's new car The yard's a
handful
Summer is finally here. . .
Yeah, I hear ya.
happy?
``Sure.''
you?
``Sure.''
happy.
I can't tell my mother that I want to come out and see her some weekend
``What's wrong? Do you need money? Is it your truck again?''
I ask her if she wants to go to Joker's Wild
And going out for lunch is completely different
she thinks I just want to get away
So we meet at the buffet
speak across full plates and salad plates and the last plate
I have nothing to talk about
the extra plate of ribs is all that's on my mind
so she keeps me up to date
on my sister and her baby
and I try to finish my fish
but it doesn't taste right when I'm smelling the Bar-b-que
and it's buffet fish anyway
overcooked and left floating in a pan of butter
and I still can't think of anything to say
When I get home, I wonder why I ever went
I've already forgotten how badly I wanted to know her
I never can forget that she is Mother when she buys me lunch
and brings me food
and I don't want a mother anymore
some weekend I want to find a friend or a mentor under her mother-mask
but every time, she offers money and food and TV mother answers
across over-full plates at some buffet
and I hate buffets
and I hate how defensive she is about her diet
and I hate talking about my sister
who, in our lunch conversations,
is nothing but another mother
and everything she wants of me--
I tell her the mixed vegetables are good today
and she tells me that broccoli gives her gas
she she lines up six desserts
and I sit and watch her nibble from each of them
proudly announcing that those two on the end are sugar-free
And I don't know what I want from her
but it isn't lunch.
And I know what she wants from me
though I pretend I don't
Because--
I'll never be Vickie.
And sugarless Jello Surprise is just no substitute
and that's all I have to offer
It's lime and bitter
And I can't even swallow that.