Smacked Down

by Jeff Glovsky

I went around in a woman’s coat one winter.  A leather number … Hourglass-shaped, fur collar and a hanging leather strap, or belt.  I didn’t care!  It kept me warm.  Plus, it was in decent shape.  It didn’t have holes in it … the buttons were all on and the zipper worked … Its owner, before me, used to say it fit her like a glove.

So I’m wearing this ridiculous wrap one winter – and a suede beret, which I found in a hardware store – and this diner guy intimates I’m a fruit.

“You’re a fruit,” he intimates.

No, admittedly, he was a bit more subtle.  Stares for a minute before taking my order; double-takes toward the counter girl, who’s smacking gum and chuckling to herself.  Looks back at me and wisecracks loudly, “He likes girls!”

The counter girl – lust, full-bodily – smacks bawdily, “Ha!  I don’t think so!”

Her Joy

by Jeff Glovsky

At 4pm, muffins go on sale … Rolls and croissants, baked breakfast sweets.  The discounts wake my office up …

I reach into my pocket, dig out a dollar to pick up a chocolate croissant … and as I’m inching on line toward the “day-old” case, an Indian woman squeals loudly.

“Oh, I can’t believe!” yelps she (she elbowing into line before me) … “Never do find chocolate here!”

She’s seized the last chocolate croissant in her sights, and hastens toward it selfishly.

“It’s mine,” think I … my fear and deflation deeper than the joy she seeps.  I’m hoping she might trip and fall (or lose a sandal running) and I advance myself, eyeing the treat.  She’s cut in line before me though, and no one stands a chance …

She wins!

She snatches the last chocolate croissant, she pulls it to her, beams and dances.

“You lucked out,” I (silent sighing) tell her, plastic smile pasted.

“Yes, I did!” she’s raised her eyes to God.  She cries, “I surely did!”

Needing Attention

by Jeff Glovsky

She stumbles down the street, she’s drunk a little … Got her night clothes on.  Dressed tightly, nightly … Mumbling to herself, and looks pissed off a little.

… At least, I rejoice, she’s not selfishly bugging her friends on some terrible cell phone.  I threw mine away!  “Smart” rings and tones … invasive temptation to need, and cling …

I sing!

Now she seems to be stumbling alone

Without warning, she shoulders around to face me.  “Are you following me?” she fairly howls.

Scared, I actually start a little … Catch my wits, and sidle up to her.  “Am I following you?  No, why?” I ask.

“Stop staring at my ass!” she grins, half mumbles to herself …