i never meet men with money

I never seem to meet any
men who have money, she
says, sitting at the kitchen
table while flipping through
a copy of Vanity Fair.
I thought we had some saltine
crackers, you say out loud,
rummaging through the cupboards.
Ate em, she says. You have
ants, by the way,
not looking up as she
licks her thumb before
turning a page. You shrug
and take a butter knife
to skim out the last of
the peanut butter from a jar.
All the men I meet are just
average joes, punching
the clock, driving old
beat up cars. No offense,
she says. None taken, you
say, licking the end
of the knife.
She flips another page
and stares at a David Yurman
bracelet, holding it
up to the light.
Maybe it's your kung fu.
What? You know, your feng shui,
your karma. You're attracting
men like me because of your
negative attitude.
Whatever, she says. I want
to go places. We never go
anywhere. What are you talking
about. We went to that Batman
movie last week. That was
a forty dollar night out,
because you had to super
size everything. Speaking of
which do you still have that
box of junior mints in your
purse. Yup, she says, but
they're probably melted by
now because it's so hot in
here. Why don't you turn on
the air conditioning? It is
on. I set it at 74. she
says something under her
breath about your mother,
then flips another page.
Are we or are we not
eating out tonight?
she asks. I'm starving.
those three crackers are not
going to hold me.
You look at your watch.
Well, there's going to be
a long line at Chipotles
at this hour. How about I
scramble up some eggs. do you
have any cheese? she asks.
Got some American slices.
Mushrooms, chives? she says.
Nope, you say, staring into
the bare abyss of the
refrigerator.
Figures, she says.