The Journalist's Blues

She used to write for a few local newspapers and magazines
doing articles here and there.
But that was a long time ago.
The girl hasn't written anything in months
maybe even close to a year now.
She used to have this way about her
that whole superiority thing
so sure of herself
really going places
and no one could stop her.
Now I don't know what she's doing
and neither does she.
The last time we hung out
I met her at one of those new
hip wine bars.
We drank an entire bottle of something good
talked for hours
the gal just laying it all out there for me
telling about
the men she takes home
the coke habit
that's quickly turning into more than a habit.
Downing a full glass of wine
in one easy gulp
before she can tell me
how happy she is for me
and my new found 'success'.
"Getting published is a big deal, Danny. You should be very proud."
She drove back to my trailer
her left hand on the steering wheel
her right hand in my crotch
rubbing me, telling me she wants me.
Then we're on the floor and she's kissing me
with her big mouth
grinding her hips
but not even that well.
Her denim pussy
completely missing my hard denim dick.
Then came the fake moaning noises
"Oh Danny. Oh. I'm gonna cum. I'm cumming."
I just stared up at her with a raised eyebrow
and a befuddled look
this was nowhere near believable. 

I was a theater kid in high school 

I knew a bad performance when I saw it.

Our crotches weren't even really touching
I knew she was full of shit
and this was all just an act.
So she faked her little orgasm
put her little titties back into her shirt
stood up and said,
"And guess what? That was....completely....one hundred percent....fake. I'm good, huh?"
I said, nothing.
Almost felt embarrassed for her.
More than anything I was pissed.
Like a wolverine or a honey badger denied a kill.
She went into the bathroom
as I pulled myself to my feet
went onto the porch and lit up a smoke.
I swore to myself
that this was the last time
I ever gave her any hours from my precious nights.
Cause all the guys
everybody knows that's what she does
big talk and no delivery.
That was months ago.
Last night
she showed up at a bar I was at.
I asked how she'd been.
"Just working. I'm a server now. That's about it. Working and partying. You know."
"Yeah, I know."
"What about you?"
"Working, hanging with my little boy, and writing. That's about it. Finished that novel I was telling you about, the nursing home one. Yeah, just trying to keep myself occupied. Started writing a western-revenge story, you know, cowboy, gunslinger shit."
She stared off
straight ahead
blank as a sheet of unused paper and said,
"You're really lucky. I wish it was as easy for me, as it is for you. How do you do it?"
"I don't know. I don't think about it, I just do it."
I said, shrugging and sipping my water
while she ordered shots
with that fucking look on her face
the one she didn't used to have.
Later that night,
she told me that I was going home with her.
"I just moved downtown, you'll love it."
I just laughed.
When she left
I didn't even see her leave
she was just gone.
I don't understand her
a chick like that.
She's college educated
learned how to write at the academic level
they taught her how to do it
but she just can't.
Doesn't have it in her.
The girl wants to be that so bad
but it's just not her.
You can only force something so long
before it finally breaks off
and you're left standing there
with something broken in your hand.
Just put it down
and move the fuck on.