Jenny Drai, Are You Going To Go In The Ocean Or What?

Dedicated to that young couple awkwardly
trying to make it in the sand. Be safe!

Had you better not. You had better,
surely. Yes, you’re right as usual. I had
better just right now I won’t quite yet
but soon. Are you frightened.
I am. But you don’t like to admit it.
True enough. That’s why I’m
biting fingernails to shreds. Well,
maybe you had better not after all.
No I want to. The payoff will be huge.
Your heart is thumping. I can see your
throat jumping. Well, this is
difficult for me. Of course it is.
It’s not easy for me either. But you’re
not afraid of anything. Oh, I assure you
I am. For example, I will not
drink very cold water directly before
bedtime. I hardly know what
to say to that. Don’t say anything.
Just give me your hand. Well, here it is.
What are we going to do. We are going
to wait. What else are you
afraid of. I will not eat hot pizza
pies for at least five minutes
after they are cooked. It sounds like you just
have sensitive teeth. That is different
from being really, truly afraid of something.
Hush. Watch the waves and the crest
of the waves. What are we going to do after
we wait. We are going to stroll across
the grains of sand. You’re really
going to make me do this, aren’t you.
Yes. Do I have to get my face wet.
Yes. You have to jump through at least
one wave. What if a shark swims past
and bumps my leg. I would pass out
and drown. The statistical proba-
bility of—Don’t talk to me about statistics
when it comes to sharks! You’re not being
rational. Maybe not. But I am addicted
to not ending up in the sharp, snapping
jaws of death. Our conversation
tires me. I’m not going to talk
this over with you anymore. You are
obviously determined to remain
irrational. Sure, irrational and alive.
You can go swim in the ocean and be shark
bait if you want. I’m going to sit right
here and drink beer until I sunburn. Chicken.
Who’s a chicken. You’re a daredevil.
We could compromise. You could just get
your feet wet. And get seaweed
on my legs? Let me pound back my golden
canned beer first. And maybe another one.
For luck. This is getting ridiculous.
I agree. We should stop. I think
I saw a jellyfish.

Jenny Drai, Your Kung Fu Is Sooo Strong.

The Culprit

Jenny Drai, your bleached hair denotes
a nunnery of tenses. The trees in the yard
stay open, Jenny Drai, as you lunge
through the foliage on a complicated
system of wires. Jenny Drai, you are
obsessed with the repetition of your own
name. Who else will run out of the mind
to slip across the symmetries? It is you,
of course, if you are really wondering.
Jenny Drai, when you boil water, the clear
liquid scalds the pan with the imprint
of your fantastic and partially
unbelievable exploits, although you claim
to have some sort of photographic evidence.
Where you are storing this evidence
is a mystery to the rest of us as we
slurp the noodles you prepare, the broth
salty, like Jenny Drai is salty when she gets
a little drunk and pulls out her wit
like a short, quick sword and thrusts
repeatedly. Jenny. Drai. Jenny
Drai, you do not live in the past as a
memory. You put it on like clothing
when you need to learn from your
mistakes and raise your sword
for the final battle. Jenny Drai, I know you’re
hiding the expensive bottle of scotch
we chipped in on together under your bed.
I know that after a long day you quietly
sneak into the kitchen for two ice cubes
and a glass and that you then retreat
to your comfortable bedchamber where
you partake of the smoky, peaty
flavor alone. Jenny Drai, when I sense
that you are clandestinely
rolling the liquid over your
tongue, I feel my half of twenty-eight dollars
and ninety-nine cents flushing down the toilet,
but I don’t say anything to you because
I know beneath your mellow, calm,
reserved exterior, you are cut throat.
I would hate to lose you, Jenny Drai, to a petty
argument or even to a major one in which,
perhaps, we might share the same lover
at overlapping times unbeknownst
to each other and then suddenly the truth
would confront us, the tea house
would clear as we kicked over tables
and smashed balconies with our self-
righteous fury. And because we have chased
everyone else away, we will have to clean
up the strewn dumplings ourselves and all
the splinters wrested from the furniture.
There is a story in this.
There is evidence in this.