a story without an ending

why are you

telling me

this story? she asks me

as i go

on and on

about something of no

interest

to her.

and yet, i don't stop.

i sit

back in the big chair

and sip on my vodka

and tonic,

which has the ability

to encourage me

to proceed

forward,

gives me the ambition

to embellish.

i'm naming names,

giving dates,

and places with great

detail.

i tell her what i was wearing,

i tell her

about the weather,

the rain,

the wind.

she rolls her eyes,

then looks at her watch.

okay, okay, she says.

go on.

you have ten minutes

to finish.

then i have to go.

you won't believe this part,

i tell her,

as i continue on.