Game Night

By James Kelly Pitts

In the moment I was trying to be
funny but it came out too fast
and muttering under my breath
I called her a stoned bitch and
threw the deck of cards across
the living room like a magician
releasing a dove and she
started to cry like it was the
best magic she had ever seen
even though I know for a fact
that’s not true because we
saw this guy on the street corner
once that guessed I was apprehensive
about religion even though I let on
like it doesn’t matter as long as they
don’t do that shit in front of me
because I realized later the whole
time he was pulling an endless
rainbow silk scarf out of his pants
and ranting about seven trumpets and
the mark of the beast I was dilating
in eye to eye contact and he handed
me a pamphlet with his mind and
that is magic but regardless I
ran after her into the bedroom
and apologized and told her I was
just tired and drunk and couldn’t
stop listening to seventies country western
music because that antiquated
and romanticized notion of morality
and masculinity intrigues and confuses
me and that’s why I threw the
Uno cards not because she
kept changing the color to green.



James Kelly Pitts is watching you through the venetian blinds.  Look!  Oh, you just missed him.  Tricky bastard.
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