L’esprit de l’escalier
What I spend time thinking about:
why I said, “I beg your pardon?”
when I do not grovel
nor do I seek clemency from you for anything.
What I meant the phrase did not accurately convey:
“Say it again and Dermablend will be your friend.”
I have failed instinct.
No, I failed instinct.
Instinct says, No tasty poison.
Instinct says, An adulterous goblin with an M&M tattoo.
Instinct says, Get the fuck out of this poser parade.
It is instinct that knows what’s best for me
yet I consistently defy
because of pity,
but mostly awkwardness,
I think to myself
as I lean over the passenger seat
of the decrepit old stranger man’s mini van
in the dimly lit supermarket parking lot
plunging my arm into the crevice by the driver’s seat
feeling for where he says his keys have fallen.
Because it can be risky
sharing private nicknames for people
who you don’t enjoy in any capacity
I kept my thoughts about Bitchface Becky to myself
but then Beyoncé did something magical