an electric eel

i don't like men

with facial hair, Hope

tells me

conspiratorially

as she leans in the direction

of my good

left ear.

she stretches out her long

pale leg

and rubs her knobby knee.

her name used to be Felicia,

but she changed

it to Hope

after winning a thousand

dollars on a scratch off

lottery ticket.

i don't like

beards

or mustaches, or side

burns,

or goatees. she says 

to me

sipping her earl grey tea.

her pinky out, as if

she's in the money now.

i like a clean shaven

man.

a man without a single

hair on his body.

slick and hairless

as a grape.

A grape? i say. staring 

into the sun feeling dizzy

and strangely

weak.

yes. she says. a grape

or an electric eel.