hot air balloon
Ronnie and Red came over unexpectedly
on a Sunday afternoon
they sat on the loveseat facing us
and I asked if they wanted anything
to drink
“no. we’re fine” she said,
looking bloated and irritated
“we haven’t had a drink
in the last two weeks.
we’re trying to hold out
for the entire month”
“sounds terrible” I said,
refilling my wine glass
“I’ve been meaning to cut back myself.
I don’t want to quit or anything,
just take it down to three glasses a day”
“well, actually,” she said,
more bloated, more irritated,
“that makes you an alcoholic.
government studies say
you can only have two glasses per day.
women can only have one”
“I prefer to be called ‘wino’”
I said, taking a long, deliberate sip
“you’re at an increased risk of heart-disease
and cancer”
“so what else is new?
didn’t the government also say smoking a joint
was like smoking five cigarettes?”
then she ballooned up so much
she filled half the room
Ronnie had to sit on the ground
he started talking about his new job at Best Buy,
a minimum wage job, yes, but a job he enjoyed
but it was hard to hear him
over the hot air
whistling out of Red’s mouth,
sailing out of Red’s ass
“I make his daily wage in an hour!”
she bellowed, now floating out the balcony door
“I make more money than all of you!
I’ve quit drinking! I’m on Keto!
I’ve lost weight!”
and she floated up
over the balcony
over the trees outside
over the telephone wires
and the city buildings
all the while shouting
how great she was
none of us stopped her,
not even Ronnie
and she disappeared into the stratosphere
a fat, sober hot-air balloon
rising to a heaven of her own design
and the apartment was finally quiet,
peaceful
Ronnie looked at me,
didn’t have to say anything
I brought the wine over
with a fresh glass
and poured him to the brim
he smiled
moderation
was a wonderful thing
Horror Sleaze Trash 