Three more porch lights just flickered awake at the sound of someone screaming the words “Psycho Bitch Demon.”
They want to see it. We all want to witness it. Witness the lovers screaming in the street. Your love is stronger than ours. We know it, and we want to pay our respects by watching one of you duck as the other of you grabs a planter from a lawn and sends it flying at the other’s head.
Your love is so big and combustible that you have to take it out of doors, away from innocents, into the middle of a street where hopefully no passing motorist will be distracted by someone so vehemently accusing someone else of being a “cocksucking failure of a man.”
Man is a warring creature. When someone surrenders to love as completely as you have, when that love threatens to lower all defenses, that violent, aggressive instinct to protect borders kicks in.
An attack is launched. Sometimes at the dinner party my wife decided to throw. She’s scraping sweet potatoes off the wall, but she’ll be at the window to listen to you soon enough.
What more important border is there than the border between self and other? Your love threatens to erase that border altogether, it compels you to tear down the checkpoints, rip up the passports, and give yourselves entirely to each other.
This can’t be allowed. That’s why you’re shouting in a cul-de-sac, accusing each other of destroying each other’s lives. You’re just trying to fight against something stronger than you, stronger than all of us.
The police just pulled into the cul-de-sac, then made a u-turn and peeled away. Out of respect.
Happy Lovers Screaming In The Street Day!
