The Lunch Meeting

He asked me quite innocently,

“Do you want to meet

for lunch sometime?”

Through my mind,

images immediately began to flash;

the way he treated me

in the first month like a Queen.

It was quite lovely.

I thought I was in love.

The trouble with thinking…


Then somehow magically,

after 4 weeks, the tide turned

quite drastically.

Then he began treating me

as if I were a child;

a doctor of physical therapy?!

He said things that told me he didn’t

feel I knew how to take care of myself.

Wanting to record pictures of my mess,

bacon grease all over the floor,

after I made him a delicious breakfast.

Free to laugh, yet never to

Give any accolade for my

Creative use of baking soda to

Soak up the mess,

Leaving nare a trace.


After much teasing about


My driving,

my method of texting, even

Then of cooking,

Speaking, thinking

And processing.

I asked him to stop teasing

so much,

it was not pleasing

to my tender heart.


And what about the

time he moved

in for a kiss,

I reciprocated,

Then he made me miss

When he turned his head

away…oh, in public, too?!

I wanted to feed him

My shoe…


Then, it was funny, he said.

when I shared being upset that

I missed running,

over something quite silly.

I reminded him to back off.

He enjoyed my misery, he said,

So instead driving the knife deeper

into my heart.

To the cold steel hilt.


Still not sure if he wasn’t

Listening. Or maybe he

Just didn’t care.

No matter,

I had already packed up

My heart; I was out of there!


I could see through.

Just as he crushed sexy models

mentally, saying they were ugly,

Or even worse, fat!

Just so they would give to him

their bodies

as if to prove

that they were indeed beautiful;

fuck worthy.


He was trying to crush me,

too, under the weight of his

heavy scrutiny.

“No more games,” he said.

“I promise to be honest with you,” he said.

But he was overcome

by his need to control the very

thing that he found attractive:

my beautiful, free spirit.


But I saw through,

because his behavior,

was so reminiscent of how I

decided I no longer wanted to be



Misread I was, by him

even with my story of

7 hellish months of celibacy.

Unwilling to return to the

bed of separation,

because of the indignation

cast down upon me.

Instead choosing to take

care of business…

with my own hands.

Domination in the bed

doth not translate into

control of my head.


So, no. (taking a breath).

I do not want to meet you for lunch.

2 thoughts on “The Lunch Meeting

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