MY BEDROOM-
Very concise, very whimsical, very self centered, very you
When I heard you on my bedroom phone's answering machine
In that instant I came to dread your voice
But I admit I was intrigued
Why did you want to meet me? Suddenly and Immediately?
Did you want more money?
Did you want back the mahogany roll top Baba had given us?
Were you having trouble with the Chevy again?
Had you still taken that part in Motley Theater's Traveling Troupe?
Were you missing me, despite your best intentions?
Did you change your mind, wanting to contest for custody?
Were you dying of cancer?
MONTAUK-
Winnie's
I'm devastated, angry but also mildly amused
That all this while that I've been wallowing in your thoughts
You've been systematically getting over me
Auditioning for cameos on daytime television
Signing the withdrawal forms of all our joint accounts
Interviewing nannies to take care of Ronnie
Actively seeking out companionship at twenty seven
Glancing playfully at handsome men who smile at you
Going to Italian restaurants in the turquoise blue Cavalli gown I gave you last winter
Meeting Upamanyu in one of them
Sleeping with him on our bed
Calling an attorney on the morning after
Exhausted from the gratifying sex
The aftermath still running between your thighs
And then sending me a voice message
Imagining to yourself with a smile as to how this would totally crush me....
“I THINK HE LOVES ME.... WHAT SHOULD I DO?”
That you were with another man was not as shattering
But the fact that you chose someone who
Doesn't leave the last chocolate chip cookie in the tin for you to discover later
Doesn't strum 'Tell me what you see” when you're too ill or too sad or too tired
Doesn't know that you prefer motorcycling to Ladakh than flying to
Doesn't share your passion for Reader's Digests and Theater of the Absurd
Doesn't hear you whisper in your sleep when you have the 'mute-dying-desert' dream
Doesn't notice that you always first turn to the left side before sleeping
Doesn't realize that that is due to a childhood superstition
Doesn't adore the tricycle accident at three faintly manifesting by your eyebrow
Doesn't draw you over fourteen days and nights in acrylic colors
Doesn't bother with opening doors, pulling chairs, cooking lasagna and writing poetry
But I don't discuss any of these things
Not only because they mean nothing to you
But also because I know that Manu is madly in love with you
“LET'S DO A THREESOME.... BITCH.”
For that's the least I could do for you guys
After all
I taught him how to wear a tie
I taught you how to drive a car
I taught him how to hold chopsticks
I taught you how to ice skate
I taught him how to speak convincingly with a Scottish accent
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