One in the Morning.
One hundred dollars to be loved for
one hour by a woman named Beloved.
The volume on the rental car radio is
turned all the way down to one as you
and her wrinkle the leather in the
backseat with your naked, dry flesh. One
time when you were a boy playing in front
of the tv, dad said the heart of a hooker is one
tough nut to crack, but this one wears her
heart on her sleeve and wears your wedding
ring during sex. One ring, twenty-five layers
of dead skin burned deep into it like a greasy
tattoo. One day you will swallow that ring like
a flame and the marriage that came with it.
Thirty minutes left and one moist, manicured
hand is wrapped around your tie squeezing on
your neck and one hand is in a warm place your
wife doesn’t touch anymore unless it’s your
anniversary. With just one minute of the
hour left your lifeless sperm fills her hand.
The low radio hums and no one in the car
says anything. Your sweat and exhaustion
seeps into the seats. One cigarette heats up
the chilly back seat as you re-dress. She
stays for one song after the hour. Your
wedding song comes on and you realize
that at one time you and your wife fucked