My Scorpion

Ideography modified Photo by Wallison Diniz from Pexels

Cold and snowing.

Cozy, warm and romantic inside the The Little Resturant.

Holding hands and enjoying time with

my Scorpion.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see

the Honduran and the Dilettante

hunched in a corner,

speaking a melody of chaotic Spanish.

The Honduran’s right ear is small and squashed flat

against his head,

the other large and protruding.

His eyes are cunning and crafty.

His teeth – well, what a pity.

The Dilettante had beauty in youth

but now – not so much.

Her hair is stringy and unkempt,

her eyes dull and vacant.

Etched lines, a maze around her mouth.

She keeps a close eye on her silver spoon,

dipping it in her

sweet chocolate

and then her small mouth.

The spoon – a metaphor of her life –

it gives her wealth, but no peace.

She has a difficult life

and needs the little white pills to

take the edge off.

Even now her head is nodding.

Seems life is troubling her once again.

I look at my Scorpion –

dark hair,

good features,

a solidness you could lean into,

a warm reassurance.

Tonight

he is restless,

his foot beating a soft beat

to his deeply hidden emotions.

The Scorpion isn’t listening

to me

and I have a lot to say.

This is my biggest complaint,

otherwise he is pretty great.

I could tell he was aware of the Honduran and the Dilettante –

a pair somehow in our life,

I know why – and don’t like it,

not one bit.

I was tired of keeping the troubled hordes at bay,

trying to preserve my bit of magic and romance.

There were just too many people

in the world

with

ISSUES.

These two had the perfect key –

too much for me.

Problems, pain, suffering and God knows what else.

I could see

all the ingredients that make up a plagued life –

double trouble as they say.

The Scorpion, you see,

was a rescuer.

The need to feel needed

was paramount to all else,

even me,

sad to say.

I was losing and knew it.

I just didn’t know

how much time I had left.

I glance over at the corner.

The Honduran and the Dilettante are

intently staring at the

Scorpion’s back,

webs of need emanating from them.

The Scorpion turns around

and makes eye contact,

then I know my time is up.


Republished from Liquid Desert – The Salton Sea Issue

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