see john write

Mr. Cooper and I

“Mr. Cooper,” I say to the blue veins on the hand. “What on earth?”

The time is noon and the time is for sympathies but I look wonderful in black and I’ll take any sympathy I can get my hands on. The metal chained around my finger lost its life long before today, long, long before it was supposed to, really.

I will say to myself, “I do not regret this,” and to the people who say that I should regret him, I will say, “But none of it is true!”

The Times

It was high time for the woman to leave but she ordered another sherry. When the waiter returned with the bill, she lifted up her skirt so that he could see inside.

“Do you accept checks?” she asked him.

The owner saw this and he said to his wife, “The times sure are changing.” And his wife felt aroused.

My Own Devices

I have fabulous friends who are constantly ringing me. I have earned each one of them myself and I have inherited nothing.

“Do you go out anymore?” Claire asked me last week. It made me laugh because of course I have no need to go out anymore and, in fact, I’m glad. This morning I did leave to visit my son’s house and he was not home and in his place was an elderly man who I believe was Oriental. I tried to “sweet talk” him so that he would tell me where my son was but he must not have been used to the affections of a woman. He said that he would ring for my son. In my life, I have only had three lovers but I have been to England and France and one of my lovers was a Parisian. Read the rest of this entry »


I’ve been thinking about the end of the world very much, recently. Namely, what I should tell my children. I have two, you see. And they are very different. The one is just a toddler. I think he may even be an infant. But the other is six and she is getting smarter and starting to look at me differently. When I was an infant I didn’t have to worry about the end of the world and I didn’t have to worry about that when I was six, either. My husband has been gone for years. I don’t think I’ve spoken to him in days and at what age does the child begin judging the mother? And at what age does the child run away?

Darling Boy

My clothes are back on but my fingers are still trembling. “Do you want some tea?” she asks me. I want her to leave. To go home so that I can shower and scrub myself and put on a pair of boxers she hasn’t touched. But I force a nod and tell her that yes, I would. She eyes me up and down and then, “Darling,” she leans into my ear. “Cheer up.”

She returns from the kitchen with two glasses. “I couldn’t find any mugs,” she blushes, batting her eyelashes for good measure. “You should tell your mom to organize this place.” I say nothing as she hands me the steaming glass, focusing on the prickliness on the back of my neck. Her blouse is still unbuttoned and I can see her breasts. Read the rest of this entry »

She Loves Me

A bouquet of shot glasses

Petals of whiskey.

She loves me. She doesn’t.

She does.






Charlie had just finished throwing up when the knocking began. The music outside of the bathroom was loud, but he could still hear the stranger’s voice shouting at him. Charlie didn’t move a muscle. He just kept his eyes closed and concentrated on his breathing. Although he had only been to this house once before, he knew there were two other bathrooms, and the person outside would have to leave eventually. He could wait him out.

The knocking turned into pounding, and Charlie’s heart began to beat faster. He didn’t have anything left in his stomach to throw up, but he wanted to wash out his mouth. He could taste bile every time he exhaled. It was metallic, like the taste of an old spoon that’s been scratched. He looked over to the sink. It was only a few feet away but it would be loud, and he didn’t want to make any noise. He hated the stranger, and he wished that something bad would happen to him.

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