To Be Written on the Back of the Check

I am going to tell my waiter that Iconsent to them holding my hand whilewe sit by the fire in a mutual dream wewill have tonight.I am going to say that it is even ok tokiss me and rub my earlobe like a sageleaf while they hum the sea shanty theyknow I like. I have said littleelse than “thank you”to them when they serve me chickenstrips, but in the dream they will knowI like Barrett’s Privateers and listened toit on repeat when I was eighteen,alone, closing every door like the songwas a secret.

I am going to tell them that it is ok tothink about me with a bedsheetbetween their legs before they go tosleep or after they wake up and wonderif there is an alternate universe wherewe live together in a treehouse onanother continent and must throw downpots and pans on slick pink heads ofmutated men to defend our home.It is ok to then wonder why every planewhere our lives entwine is in the middleof its third or fourth world war and/orclimate event.I might say: O, we have so much incommon. I also obsess over basic shit.

I am going to tell my waiter that it wouldbe completely fine if it turns out theycan’t live without me.I am a messiah or a college educationor both, since once you know me I amimpossible to be unknown.It would only take a bit of reading-in, amovement swift enough to glimpsethe tapetum lucidum behind my tongue,for them to understand that I am not justbeing nicewhen I say that their Hufflepuff sweateris cool –I am offering the evergreen pinpricks ofour future together. At that point,I should probably tell them that I have apartner but that this is a non-issue. I willexplain I am polyamorousborn to it like a turtle to the ocean, andthat the journey to self-acceptance hadfew casualties, no broken men inHalifax.Not to worry, I will say – I have split upno marriagesbesides that oneand they didn’t even break up beforethey stopped talking to me, and that I’msure that venus trap snapped shut assoon as I wasn’t in their DMsand they’re fine.

I am going to tell my waiter that I do nottip them extra because I don’t playfavoritesbut if I did I would give them the tipthat when someone lets their hair downwhile you’re talking to them it meansthey want to waft over to you like leavesdarting through wind.I would also give them maybe about fiveto seven dollars and tell them to get anice cream, a pistachio gelato, evenand say to think of me the entire timetheir blood pressed against their eyeswhile they ate it.I would say: it is alright to want to eatgelato so fast so badly.

I am going to finish this poem to give toevery bartender in every close-talkingcocktail bar in every tight black shirtinstead of my phone number.If you are reading this, I do not have aphone number. I do not have anymeans of contact or entry into myperson.I have no origin and no home.I have put myself out of it over and outof my love for you.