Not Well

I sleep with your man. Not literally, only in my mind. My thoughts have you falling down a well. I’m the only EMT on duty and the first one on the scene. I show you how I’m taking the batteries out of my walkie-talkie and tell you how I’m going to purposely trip and break my ankle, so I have to crawl back to the truck to call dispatch. Hopefully, you would have had full exsanguination and then I will be an injured heroine and need emotional support that I will receive from my new man formerly known as your man.

I’ll be wearing a black medical boot to coordinate with my little black dress at your wake. I will be extra careful not to chuckle at your closed casket. I’ll go through the line by myself, hoping to talk to my new man alone. Alas, I see him standing next to your mother. Well, that’s okay, she’ll hug me and I’ll give her some tissues and she will grow to be one of my daily supporters, when your man is now mine. Your father is stoic, red-eyed and turns away from me as I shake his hand and softly murmur condolences like an Oscar winning actress. Finally, I’m staring into the face of my soulmate. For a micro-millisecond, I felt remorse for causing his pain. I will wash away his sorrow, during his bath and towel him dry with my tongue and eyes.

What am I going to wear to your funeral? I decided that I was going to take my favorite grayish black dress trousers and wear them with the right pant leg ripped to accommodate the boot. I sacrificed my favorite pants for you, my hot love. I wore my gray blouse with pearls, pea coat and didn’t wear a hat, so all would be…