The Receptionist - a poem by Abhinav Aradhi

 

The Receptionist

 

Rendezvous, in a judging night,

Where every pindrop silence seems to be directed

At the shapes groping hungrily at one another

Encased in a motor-driven monster.

 

Father’s got a rationale,

And it’s one that’ll kill you.

He says that to be satisfied,

You can’t succumb to solitude.

 

That’s what as he says as the thing beneath him,

The pretty little creature from reception,

Screams like a sailor devoured by a siren’s song.
I’m a really nice man, alright?

It’s that bitch at home.

The girl keeps screaming.

She’s always got something to say.

The girl’s caterwauling.

 

It’s not that you’ve done anything wrong.

The girl’s eyes start weeping.

I just can’t handle it anymore.

The girl’s eyes are torrential.

Please don’t be mad at me.

She’s clawing at his face.

You just looked so pretty in those parking lot lights.

She’s kicking with puerile strength.

 

I don’t appreciate your attitude.

She’s looking at him with panic.

Do you need to be taught a lesson?

She’s shaking her head in horrified denial.

 

This is the knife she uses to cook me dinner.

She stares at the razor edge with muffled terror.

A little chop, chop, chop, and that bitch’ll be gone.

Her tears have marred the faded leather upholstery.

 

You look just like her, you know?

She can’t speak, as her throat’s got a knife in it.

You remind me of my mother. 

She can’t nod, as motion has left her body.

 

Sorry about that, honey.

I’ll get the car washed tomorrow.