the go to

where are you every
tuesday night, i ask
my friend jeannie. i
text, i call, i leave
a voice mail to see
what's up and you
aren't at home.
then i never hear back
until the next morning.
oh, she says, pushing her
frizzy hair out of
her eyes. this humidity
is destroying my
hair, she says. i'm
a fright, keep the
children away, i might
scare the bejeebies
out of them. i stare
at her, so, i say.
tuesday nights?
oh, yeah, tuesday nights.
that's when i see my
go to. your what? my
go to, everyone has
a go to, she says.
what's that?
i don't even know what
that is. she rolls her
eyes. you are so lame
sometimes, she says.
it's someone,
that, well, you know,
there's ummm, no strings
attached and you go
have a little fun
visit with them and
mix it up. mix it up,
really? you mean like get
busy? do the wild thing
with them? i say. that's
right jimmy einstein.
you go meet them somewhere
and get busy and do
the wild thing,
that's what a go to is.
it's just fun, easy, no
questions, no problems,
none of that relationship
crapola. hmmm, you say.
and no money is exchanged?
you're an idiot, she says.
hey, look at my hair,
does it look really wild.
should i have it
straightened or what?
why ask me, why don't you
ask your go to next
tuesday, or is that too
serious of a question
for you two to discuss?