Running the Gauntlet

I've been
sitting across
from you
for hours
as you play
that video game
on your laptop.  

This whole time
I've been wanting
to go at it
like ice cream
on hot concrete,
but that gadget
keeps holding my place,
a perfect zero,
a nothing important
a thought
that has no weight.

My phone rings
and I pull it
from my pocket
and place it
into my water glass,
still ringing faintly
for a few seconds.  

I can't take my mind off
of your body,
wanting to have you.

I ask you
what you have planned
for this evening,
and you start to discuss TV
and recorded shows
that we need to watch.

"'Are you thinking
what I am thinking?'
'No, I am thinking
something completely
different.'"

I love that Little show
(August Rush),
but you not Little.

I want to tell you,
"Daddy doesn't want
to watch TV tonight",
but you don't understand.

You look
at me
all inquisitive,
and then reach
for the remote control.

In my mind,
I push the coffee table
out of the way
roll over on you
and pin your arms
to the couch.

I lift your skirt
and tear off your panties
and show you
"How the West Was Won."

You've watched
all the shows
a 1000 times
with bottles
of wine
and killed all
the green pigs.

You petted the fur
off the cat,
and the numbers
on the remote
are rubbed gone.

I shoot the TV,
throw out the cat,
toss the computer,
and pull you down
under me
in an all out assault
on your avoidances.

And then I wake up
and I am staring
at your face,
as you repeat,
"I'm going to watch
'When Harry Met Sally.'"

And all I can think of
is that round
wagon wheel coffee table,
again.

runningturtle87