chicken wings. now.

my friend, rimute,
from germany, all
blonde and brassy
and bold, and not
afraid to smack
you around a little
if you got too
frisky. i'm not
a race horse, she'd
say, slow down.
when she arrived
in town, and
entered her hotel
room she would open
her suitcase and
toss everything in
it into the air,
letting her dress,
her pants, her
shoes land anywhere.
no dresser for
her. and that was
how she lived. and
i asked her if
she'd like to go
to a museum, or
to a show, or to
see a monuement
downtown and she'd
laugh and say, no,
what for. i came
to see you. i
prefer room service.
call them. i want
some chicken
wings. now.