San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

Jim Babwe
DONUT QUEEN

You told me
you felt bored and suicidal--
and not to tell anyone.

I took notes.

You told me
the fabric of life
was infinitely
crashing at your feet
like an unlimited number
of bricks
falling from a wall
too tall to climb,
too wide to walk around--
beyond sight in every direction.

I tried to make you laugh
when I asked about why
you were not wearing
a helmet--
bricks falling and all.

You said,
It's not a joke;
stop making fun of me.
And I don't like it
when you call me
Donut Queen.

I said,
Why don't you want
me to call you
Donut Queen.

You said,
Stop making fun of me.
Apologize.

For the helmet remark
or for calling you
Donut Queen?
I asked

You said
to take my pick--
either one.

I said,
I'm sorry
for calling you
Donut Queen.

You said,
You're just saying that.
You don't mean it.

I said,
Okay.
I'm sorry for making fun of you.
Why don't you want me
to call you Donut Queen?

You said,
Never mind.
You're not sorry.
Call me Donut Queen.
I don't care.

I said,
I thought you wanted
me to say I was sorry.

That's different from being sorry,
you said.
Since you're taking notes,
Write this down.
The fabric of life
turns into broken rocks
and piles them
into mountain of rubble at my feet.
The weight of these stones
is too heavy for any trash can.

You told me
not to write down
that you were
bored and suicidal.

You said,
Don't tell anyone.

Then you changed
your mind and said,
Go ahead.
Write it all down.
Tell everyone.
I don't care.

I said,
I'm worried about you
(and don't take this the wrong way),
but depending
upon how you kill yourself,
how much of a mess
are you planning to make
and where
is it going to be?

You said
I wasn't funny.

You said you
weren't kidding
and you probably
won't kill yourself.

You said
I wasn't listening.

You asked me
why I was taking notes.
What are you going to do
with them?

Then you said
it didn't matter.

You looked up at the sky
and you said,
Write this down, too.

I waited
while you were thinking.

You said
you forgot
what you were
going to say
before you walked away
and locked yourself
into the bathroom again.

You used to laugh
when I called you
Donut Queen.