Art by Patrick Perkins
Another Date Asks Me What Are You Looking For?
Samantha Imperi
like a clerk at a clothing store working on commission.
What is it about me that gives the impression
I have recently dropped a stud earring onto shag carpet?
I’m just browsing, I say at the department store,
at the makeup counter, to the perfume salesman.
Everyone’s trying to sell me
on sex appeal these days, and I guess
it makes sense that consumerism and coitus
go so swell together. Every date feels
like a visit to the deli counter: bologna today,
please. Nobody wants to hear forever
anymore. I sip my water, you sip your wine.
We’re just different, aren’t we? I used to think
we were all looking for the same things.
I was young then. Stupid. I smile at him.
Probably not you, I say.
Samantha Imperi
like a clerk at a clothing store working on commission.
What is it about me that gives the impression
I have recently dropped a stud earring onto shag carpet?
I’m just browsing, I say at the department store,
at the makeup counter, to the perfume salesman.
Everyone’s trying to sell me
on sex appeal these days, and I guess
it makes sense that consumerism and coitus
go so swell together. Every date feels
like a visit to the deli counter: bologna today,
please. Nobody wants to hear forever
anymore. I sip my water, you sip your wine.
We’re just different, aren’t we? I used to think
we were all looking for the same things.
I was young then. Stupid. I smile at him.
Probably not you, I say.