The Problem with Tarot and Online Dating
I draw three cards because I need to believe the fortune
has more weight than what I’m able to accomplish
in an afternoon. The ship is sinking or I am juggling
a hand holding the cup I’m going to refill now.
Whiskey and root beer or communion or whatever
you call Tuesday.
A random playlist is better than remembering
each song’s introduction: The 1970 Buick with a sofa
for a backseat, the fifth hour of a long drive
alone, my father’s tape deck. Play me all the songs
that mean nothing yet. I'll try and seem gracious.
It matters. If I had your phone number I’d send you
drunk texts but only on weekdays. By which I mean
I’d make a great housewife. Fingers in every pot,
domesticated. Dick in my mouth and happy on a Tuesday
for no particular reason other than I am your wife. Happy
unable to scare us. Maybe even some chickens in the backyard
I’d kill to feed you. Call it a garden and leave your shoes
on the front porch. I draw three cards because I don’t want
to call my brother. I don’t want to talk about our father.
Let’s play a game where you ask me a question.
My answer is amazing and forever is a foregone Tuesday.
The sun is barely set and you don’t even know
I have two last names already. So many secrets
I’m going to whisper. You’ll swallow them all
and teach me gracious.
