Love Is a Tea Towel

Some people get off on porn,
which is fine by me.

I prefer a vodka tonic,
watching the Atlantic wash
pastel-colored jellyfish
onto the shore,
luxurious naps in fresh sheets.

My mum, though, has a special kink:
a running commentary
on every way I’m wrong.

She buys me things:

dresses and jewelry,
vacations,
and an inordinate amount
of tea towels.

She has always bought me things.

I am so privileged.
I am so sensitive.
So spoiled.
An ingrate non pareil.

But yesterday,
at the gas station aka truck stop,
she asked me about
the “travel pussy”
in the bathroom dispenser.

I made her laugh.

I’m happy I still can.