Men make fun of us for
going together to the bathroom.
We make fun of ourselves.
I went to a party
where a friend fought with her husband.
She strutted through the garage,
chest out, finger flailing, screaming
all those sarcastic HONey's and BABy's.
But eventually she tired and succumbed to the table
with her hot, red face in her hands,
her voice reduced to a small plea
for whatever it is we women need.
And there he stood behind his
bad posture and his dead eyes-
those dead eyes that give nothing
and take nothing.
"Party's over… Please lock up the garage,"
he announced.
I met her in the bathroom
so she could cry
and I could hold her hand.
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