Tonight's Poet Corner: Don't VenMo Me

Don't VenMo Me
by Belinda Roddie

You owe me two hundred dollars

for the bad beers I bought for you
for the tequila shots you said were on you
but I just swallowed off you instead
bare back, bare body, bare-boned vulgarity

You owe me two hundred dollars

for the extra bottle of Scotch you begged
to try once we got back to my place
for the cab fare to my sad excuse for
a bachelor pad in the middle of nowhere

for the pizza delivery because your munchies
are equivalent to having to feed little tiny
demons so they don't devour my soul instead

You owe me two hundred dollars

for the dental dams I never used
for the finger cots I snagged at CVS
and for the heavy use of my own perfume
to cleanse yourself of my presence
like exorcising the demons who just
got stuffed with ham and pineapple

You owe me big time, or at least
I convince myself of that, as if
I'm entitled to financial returns for
a night when you just wanted to have fun
when you just wanted to recuperate
when you just wanted to pretend

that you didn't have to go home to your
husband of seven deadbeat, dead end years
just so you could hug and kiss your son
and dream that some day, he could have
two mothers instead of a bad beer father