Medium Pie, Extra Cheese

by Elizabeth Vassallo

I would have married you if you weren't a drug dealer.
You knew exactly where to scratch my back - right under the bra strap, where I couldn't reach.
You chewed gum for me before I kissed you so I wouldn't have to suck on your smoke.
You introduced me to your "associates" as your baby and I never felt degraded.
"This is Nelson who smokes weed while he pumps gas over on Washington,
And this, is JJ who snorts too much coke and has a sweet tooth for jail-bait.
This, here, is Gabe, the communist, who needs a cane due to his latest drunk-driving mishap,
This is Rhonnie, the alcoholic/nymphomaniac, with her liberty spikes and beer belly.
Oh, and don't forget Maureen, my forty-year old client and favorite 'girl' to chill out with."
Oh, but you were better than that crowd:
You had dreams to light up the stage.
We would share a loft and live off macaroni and cheese and Spaghetti-o Surprise.
When it was time for me to leave our town,
We said good bye and cried together:
I went away to college,
You dropped out of high school.
One day, I am going to deliver babies,
You will deliver pizzas.
Well, kid, I'll be sure to leave you a big tip,
But if you're not here within the hour, I want that shit for free.

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