with
your free time, my friend Betty tells me,
as she puts
out a cigarette
under her flip flop
and lights another
one with a long wooden match.
we're sitting out back in her
plastic chairs
near her trash cans
and whirring
air conditioner unit.
what do you mean, i ask her.
pushing the smoke away
from my face.
do some volunteer work,
she says.
pick up trash along the highway,
or go down to the shelter and ladle
soup or something.
or maybe see if the hospital
needs help with
sick people.
huh?
doing what with sick people?
i don't know,
read to them, or something.
rub their feet.
tell them stories about all the internet
dates you've been
on.
you have some great funny stories
about all the wacky
women you used to meet
and buy dinner and drinks for.
you could be like
a modern day
Mark Twain, or something.
she blows a few smoke rings in
my direction.
i shake my head.
you know those cigarettes are going
to eventually kill you?
you know that, right?
yeah,
probably, she says.
more than likely.
get you another beer?
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