i hop

love is
a monkey wrench
you tell
her over
coffee and
cigarettes.
you are dining
late into
the night at
the international
house of
pancakes,
in fact it's
early morning.
three a.m.
you want
the waitress,
brittany,
in her blue
uniform to take
the plates
away of cold
eggs and nibbled
toast, but she's
busy in the kitchen
with juan,
a monkey wrench?
she says, blowing
smoke up
in the air.
it's nineteen
eighty-four,
you could smoke
then. yes,
you tell her
and sip your
black coffee.
it's heavy, it's
awkward, love is
hard to carry
around sometimes
and you don't know
where to put it.
i don't know
what the hell you're
talking about,
she says, but
i think you're
cute anyway. i hear
her heel go
off under the table
and then feel
her foot caress
the inside of my
pant leg. at this
point i try
to stop talking
crazy talk
and leave a
twenty on the table
for brittany.