Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/03/19

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I Can’t remember If The Cops Got Called This Time
in the early morning
you tiptoed into our apartment
returning from your
“girl’s night out”
to find me standing by the door
waiting

you wore the same skintight
turquoise dress
but your makeup
was mostly worn off
your brown hair mussed

and though i’d been drinking
all night
i felt oddly sober
a model of restraint
as i began my interrogation

but after a few questions
everything collapsed
tears were streaming
and i was shouting
“you fucked him, didn’t you?”

and then i saw it
on the counter
the razor blade we used
to chop up dope

i grabbed it and screamed
“i’m gonna swallow this”
and the cold metal of it
was against my tongue
and my lips were sealed tight
as you screamed
“no….no….no!”
and grabbed at me

i suppose
it wasn’t technically “cheating”

he was your husband
not me

but i had your attention now
didn’t i?
whore

©Brian Rihlmann all rights reserved

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Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi-autobiographical, confessional free verse, much of it on the so-called “grittier” side. Folk poetry…for folks. He has been published in Constellate Magazine, Poppy Road Review, and has an upcoming piece in The American Journal Of Poetry.

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