bruised banana.

There was this girl; we used to make love. One day she accidentally picked up my coffee instead of hers, the way she shyly apologized and looked away nervously was strangely seductive. That's how we met, her name was Sheena.

Sheena worked at a fruit shop, which was great; I love mangoes. She showed me how to check the ripeness and what to look for when shopping for fruit. I used what she taught me on her breasts; squeeze gently, you want it to be firm yet yielding. She was always ripe.

It was a Tuesday when she found out she was pregnant. She was packing the bananas when I came in to see her; she was holding a bruised banana and looking down at it with a contagious contempt. That crayola brown banana made me anxious.

"I'm pregnant"

Fucking banana.

"What should we do?"

Sheena threw away the banana. Good riddance.

"I'll go to the doctors tomorrow, see what our options are."

It was a Friday when she told me it was alright. I didn't need to ask.

There was this girl; we used to make love, but now we just fuck.

aim for the head.

She was a furious fuck, and that was fine.
I mean, I don't mind getting rough;
hair pulling and hand cuffs.
But it was her post-game play that petrified me most.
I can deal with spooning
and I can pretend to be interested in getting sushi tomorrow,
It's an integral part of the tango.
But she was thinking of names for our children.
That fucking scared me.

"I think they should both start with 'J',
Joe for the boy and Julie for the girl"

I layed there with my arm hooked below my head,
her head resting on my chest.
I was still half drunk.
And more than willing for round two.

"I don't want twins"
she said.
"I want Julie to be a few years older,
she can be the wise older sister."

She lifted her head from my chest
and looked towards my stubbled chin.

All I could think about was the fact
that i couldn't remember her name,
it migh've been Emma, or possibly
Natalie.

I've thought about kids before.
But i honestly want to have nothing to do with them
I'd like to spread my seed,
but across distant continents.

I'd like to have a Jose
with my eyes and nose
that lives with his mother.
She rocks him gently as
they bathe in pastel colours
of the sun set in El Salvador.

And I'd like a Juanita
with my passion for words
who sits with her mum
as they watch the matadors
dance that suicidal dance of theirs.

But that's far off,
and right now i just want to drink,
smoke
and make love to the girls
who laugh nervously at the bars.

I don't want a Joe.
I don't want a Julie.
I want her to tell me if she's really on the pill
or if I have to pull out and aim for her tits.