to the curb

i'm not judging you
she says, but
your lifestyle leaves
something to be
desired. when was
the last time you
dusted this
house. i could do
an archealogical
dig on the shelves
themselves. i
can't find my
duster, i tell
her, and my maid,
cecilia was deported
back to sweden.
do you have a dog,
she asks me.
no, not anymore,
well, maybe you
should get one,
or even two just
to clean up all
the crumbs and crusts
and popcorn scattered
about the couch
and floor. you're
hurting my feelings
i tell her as i
pop a can of pabst
blue ribbon,
slinging the extra
suds off my
hand as it foams
out the top. i don't
think that's possible
she says. i really
don't think i'm
girlfriend material
for you, i have to
go now. no problem,
i tell her, but
hey, on your way out
can you take these
two bags out to
the curb, the shrimp
shells are killing
me. whew.