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Sunday, Jan. 17, 2010

What Goes On

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We had a fair number of drinks throughout the day and went home to listen to the Beatles on vinyl.  I felt her eyes on me during Rubber Soul and knew something was coming.  Are you ever going to marry me, she said.  I reminded her that we were drunk and told her I didn't think it was supposed to work this way, and she ran into the other room in tears, assuming that was some ultimate answer.  Luckily, I was still clothed and left.  I slipped into this hole in the ground dive for a bourbon or two at bar time.  Everyone was doing karate and the women had beards except for the young gal bartending who was probably twelve.  They were throwing punches and wild animals and I asked if this was normal for a Sunday night.  She said with a wink that it was until I walked in and she poured me a double.  After I fed the animals some cigarettes, I knew she and I would have something to talk about.  She told me she dreamt of being an Olympic swimmer.  Conveying to her that I prefer either high above or way below the surface, the conventional strokes don't apply to me.  Do you always allow these animals here I asked, failing to realize my own wet nose and dangling leash--  I had to wink, myself, and shrug my shoulders.  She poured me a last one and charged me her age.  I left high stepping over slippery carcasses to a more comfortable crazy:  to our home where she waited on the front porch and asked me if this was all a dream.  I said no silly, this is a poem.  Look behind you, the house is on fire.  She chum buddy punched me on the arm and said, yeah I know.  We went inside.  I made a sandwich because we were out of beer and kissed her on the forehead, saying sweet dreams.  When I crawled in, she drifted the back of her hand down my thigh until she reached the porcupine quill sticking out.  Let me help you with that.  No, I said, it's barbed and deep, probably to the bone.  I'll worry about that later.  We turned on our sides, ass to ass, our bodies forming the perfect why.



Jesse Manser, a recent journalism graduate from UW-Milwaukee, writes & slings drinks on the eastside.  He thanks his beautiful girlfriend Abigail, his family & his friends for constant inspiration, laughter & corniness.  He enjoys hitting the occasional ill advised soft eight iron, a well wrapped & tucked burrito, a respectfully poured drink, time to run & Eric's kind words.

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