A GROOM NAMED JIMMY

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Ah, the pajama’d daughters of LAX in the morning!
Black men’s women dress best for airports.
Their slapping cheeks lantern the long, renovated hallways. 
And I count each step.

But there are no babes on display at My Gate.
Only the Obese,
Fingerpainting their iPads with muffin grease,
Eager to get sunburnt.

I arrive in Mexico, where I am predictably taken
by the resort housekeepers’ ankles.
FAITH is synonymous with doubt and certainty is its antithesis.
My movie is boring but rewarding.
There is a groom named Jimmy at the resort where I’m staying.
All the resort guests are invited to Jimmy’s wedding.

I send my ex wife a pic of my body as I shower.
Muscular and tanned and very convincingly,
a mans. 
Maybe my crinkles’ll get her to stop acting so single.

Being where you aren’t is an art. The Groom named Jimmy greets me in the morning. I ignore him and follow his bride-to-be down the hallway.

“I hear you like Jimmies,”I say, on her special day.
My movie is costly
But I’m not talking about money
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