the deal is done

what are your
intentions with
my daughter, her
father says to me
while i sit on
the livingroom
couch that is wrapped
tight in thick
relfective plastic.
my sweaty hands
are trembling
and sticking to
the cushions also
sealed in plastic.
of course
i can't really
tell him the truth.
my intentions are
mostly the same as
any twenty one
year old healthy
male. lots and
lots of sex around
the clock. but i
can't tell him that.
so instead i tell
him that i love
her and want her
to be my wife, and
that when i get a
halfway decent job
or finish school, well,
i'll take care of her.
maybe even raise a
family. which is
the furthest thing
from mind at the moment.
he takes a sip
of his jack daniels,
then punches his cigarette
out into a brown glass
ashtray that is full
of butts. he stares
down at his current
issue of playboy magazine
in his lap, then rubs
the gristle on his
chin. okay, he says,
you have my permission.
he feels at this point
that it's a stand up
moment, so we both
stand up, and he looks
me in the eye.
he grabs my hand
and squeezes it like
a vice, but i
somehow manage to not
cry out like a little
schoolgirl but grimace,
which sort of looks
like a smile.
don't hurt my girl,
he says, wagging his
thick italian finger
in my flush and lineless
face, she's my
baby, got that buddy.
sure, i say. sure.
and the deal is done.