I'll get breakfast

I’ll get breakfast

It’s Monday, a day in the week and quarterback time. I’m a glop of ink

in the barrel of a pen waiting to get out, the right word apparently elusive.

I now know how a sperm feels: hang around, build, rush, release and boom!

you’re on your own -

to meet the same woman all the others are after.

Where the heck are all the women who outnumber the guys? Where? The ones

and the numbers sociologists report and mothers know and wring their hands about.

Everywhere and to anyone who’ll listen.

Those numbers have got to be good given the number of gay and bisexual guys out there:

hey, I’m just sayin’…

There ought to be a feeding frenzy for a guy who’s employed, clean,

straight, not a psycho and who’s interested in more than a random hook up.

Or

is that female angst on the cover of women’s magazines all a crock and do

modern women want a random act as much as guys and hold the commitment crap?

I’m beginning to think so.

Then again, something weird’s going on ‘cause lesbians I know can’t hook up

either with someone outside the coven of ol’ reliables. Same crap….

it’s all titillation until you interpret the signs you thought you read, reach out and go for the gusto

then it’s restroom and photo on the milk bottle time;

at 8 or 9 dollars a glass, I figure she can buy her own wine:

I’ll buy breakfast.