the dylan t shirt

you're afraid
of committment
aren't you, she
says, over breakfast.
she's wearing
your black t-shirt
that you got
a hundred years ago
at a dylan concert.
his smirking
face is faded from
the wear and tear.
the words don't
look back, still
visible. you continue
to butter your toast
and lather on
a nice blueberry
jam as well
before taking
a bite. why do
you say that, you
say, still chewing.
you are just
very evasive,
elusive
with your words.
and you say
something like,
pffff, words.
who needs them.
it's what you do,
not what you say
that counts. are
you going to eat
the rest of
your bacon? you
grab a slice
off of her plate.
hey, be careful
with getting
jam on my shirt,
okay?