Irene Sherlock
Husband and Wife at Dinner Party
I'm not hungry, haven't been in years, so I find the bar, start hitting the tequila. You're already on to men engaged in politics. I join the women complaining about daycare. Musicals – they all end the same: I drink. Later, you’ll threaten. Doors will be slammed, yet there is little drama between us. If I pass out, you'll carry me, or maybe this time leave. Tomorrow we will not review. Maybe, we should try comedy. Hostess floats by. Boy, girl, boy, girl. Music changes to a samba. I glide to the table. One, two, three limes in my napkin. You find a seat next to a blonde with lots of hair. How, I wonder, can she dance in that hair? The man next to me, from Peru does acupuncture. Pin pricks, his voice, melodic. Prick... prick... On cue, my mouth waters. The blond laughs. Host picks up his guitar, everyone off-key. The blonde can be heard all the way to the balcony. I tell the Peruvian I'd like to drag her somewhere, strip her down, see how blonde she really is. You Americans, he smiles. You know how to put on a show.
Irene Sherlock has published in Amaranth, Chautauqua Literary Journal, Cloven Sphere, Cream City Review, Connecticut Review, Dos Passos Review, Fairfield Review, Miranda Magazine, poem-memoir-story, Poetry Motel, Primavera, Roux, Runes, Slipstream, The New York Times, White Pelican Review and in several anthologies. Her essays have aired on WSHU National Public Radio.
