Vegas, Baby
You never once took me on any business trips,
but you took her to Vegas when you started dating.
I wonder if she watched HGTV in the hotel room
and ordered eggs, over-easy, from the in-house restaurant
while you had pissing contests with middle-aged men
in leather office chairs. Maybe she went to the pool
for a swim or took a walk down the Strip at noon.
I wonder if she took a bubble bath in the jacuzzi tub
nestled in the corner of that two-star hotel room
and texted sudsy pictures of her breasts for you to peek at
between meetings. And remember how your credit sucked,
and the pictures she sent, and you sent, were all shared
using the phone plan I started when I was eighteen?
You always took just one more thing from me
to give to her. And yes, I banged that guy from Craigslist
when all I wanted was to feel something other than the failure
of being whatever you needed, just like that time we tried
having another kid and you said I was just using you for sex,
but, in the end, weren’t you using her to fuck?
What am I waiting for?
Something to move me.
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Lindsey is a Pushcart nominated writer (Red Fez & Pithead Chapel) born and raised in Upstate South Carolina. She has words in X-R-A-Y, Emrys Journal, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and more. She spends her time at home raising a strong, confident daughter. Find her online at https://r3dwillow.wixsite.com/rydanmardsey or on Twitter: @rydanmardsey.
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image: Alan Tenhoeve
Rejection Letters 