so tell me about yourself

let's really
get to know one
another, she
says over a mojito.
her third. she's
happy in a
drunk sort of way.
i want to know
what makes you tick.
who are you really?
the waiter brings
over a large plate
of fried calamari.
you don't want
to know, you say,
rubbing your forehead
as if trying to
remove a stubborn
smudge. oh come
on, she says.
tell me about your
family, your friends,
what's your true
passion in life?
who do you want
to be when you grow
up? she's really
tipsy now.
okay. you say and
finish your gin
and tonic in one
large gulp.
i was raised by
wolves basically
and my passion is
pretty much
survival, keeping
a roof over my
head and having
something to eat
and drink. sleep
and other assorted
sensual pleasures
such as romance fall
into the mix somewhere
too. her eyes get
wide as she sips
hard on her straw.
oh my, she says. but
you say you write
poetry too, right?
i'd love to read it
sometime. can you
recite me some poems
right now. i'd love to
hear them. no. you
tell her. i'm a writer
not a circus
clown. oh, she says,
sensitive type,
aren't we?
so do you consider
yourself to be a
lone wolf, she asks,
tossing a large
rubbery ring of
calamari into
her open seal like
mouth. yup, you
say, i suppose i
do and more so
by the minute.