down at the Russian
massage
parlor
in between
the liquor store
and dry cleaners.
it's where the Sears store used
to be. it's where
my mother would
take me for new school
clothes when
i was a kid.
she's sitting in the window
when i arrive
and smoking
a cigarette.
where have you been?
she says,
gruffly.
you think i don't have
bills
to pay
i have three children and
no
husband.
i have dreams and ambition
too, you know.
she takes my coat and leads
me into a dark room
where she says
take off your clothes.
she then clears the table
of dishes
and glasses, and a large
plate of chicken
gone cold.
she throws down a blanket
and says go on,
get up there.
deep tissue today?
yes i tell her, but don't kill me.
okay?
okay, she says, okay,
big baby man.
she flicks her cigarette
to the floor, smashing
it under a red high heel.
no screaming
today, she says. the children
are finally asleep,
okay?
i give them some vodka.
okay, i tell her as her boney
knee digs sharply
into my back.
and cash only.
no more pay pal, Zelle,
or credit cards.
i simplify now.
your tax man kills my
spirit.
yes. i tell her, grimacing
as i hear
a bone crack
in my back.
cash only. okay.
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