there are no tomorrows

I sit in yet another meeting
Listening to someone I have no respect for
Drone on and on.
I’m not interested
In the meeting.
I am trying to figure out
What you meant
When you walked by me
And said there are no tomorrows.
Are you mad
Because I wouldn’t watch
Your reality show?
Or are you couching
Our relationship
In ambiguities
For the hell of it?
We’ve dated for a year.
Past the pleasantries
To the compromises.
You have such a very high
Opinion of yourself.
You’re a catch
You’ve said over and over.
So much so that I’m beginning
To wonder what I’ve caught.
The meeting is open
For questions.
I have no idea what this moron
Has been saying,
But I feel compelled
To vomit a question
To make the group think
I’ve been listening.
How does your theory
Apply to our deliverables?
I ask, smiling.
The speaker stutters
And looks for another
In the group to answer.
He is met with blank faces
And searches for his anwer.
I’ve forgotten my question
As soon as I ask it.
I am thinking about
The dinner you made
And the portion I ate.
And wondering if it was enough.
You are not a good cook.
But you don’t know this.
You are unaware of any fault
You may have.
There are no tomorrows.
Did you read that somewhere
In your self help books?
I realize that everyone
Is looking at me
Because my question
Hasn’t been answered.
I am forced to answer
My own question.
Perhaps this
Will help with that
And everyone wins.
The speaker smiles
And the group disperses.
I walk back to my cubicle
And wonder
Why I am with you
And not the thousands of women
Who can cook
And don’t seem to be building
their case for sainthood.