Grandmama

I’m glad that you like me.
In the grand sense
that’s all I really want
but in the microcosm
I’m a little too fragile in my masculinity
about the specifics.
I’m not sure that I appreciate
that you like me
because I remind you
of your retarded grandma.

How do you even have a retarded grandma?
How would that work?
Was your grandmom, like,
molested and then your great grandparents raised your mother
and your grandmother just kind of sat around – shit!
That’s EXACTLY how it played out?
Damn!

So how is it that someone
with my intuitive genius
would remind you of her?
What goes on here?

This comparison
to your grandmother…

is it because of complexion
or height
or our favorite color shirt
or something like that?
It’s not some vacuous gaze
or the way the drool collects or
how we might have composed our thoughts
is it?

Maybe
don’t answer me
until I’ve spent some more time
with your grandma.

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