Over Hard

by Dr. Deirdre Fagan

It’s not that I cheated on you, but that I wanted to. When you left for Dallas that last time, I swore I would. I even went shopping for one of those pretty negligees you’ve never noticed me wearing. You don’t even remember any of them, do you? I used to buy them at the Five and Dime when we was first married, but then I learned you liked me the way you like your eggs, over easy.

Last summer, I said to June while sittin’ on the porch cracking beans, “Ain’t no point bothering getting dolled up for him. He don’t even care about the plate these eggs are served on,” and I gave my bust a little lift, one boob in each hand, one at a time. Boom. Boom. I could tell June didn’t know what I was talking about when I said that, but I knew.

I swear half the time you’ve just wanted it on the kitchen floor while I was hot from cooking and you was all sweaty from whatever you was messing with in the garage. I told June, “This time I’m gonna, I really am,” and just to fix her,

I bought that godforsaken negligee.

I’ve decided it’s what I want you to box me in good, and on silk sheets. No skimping for no satin in my forever box. I want the good stuff. I’ve been losing weight for the day I hightail it outta here for good. I’m gonna slide into that pine box like it’s home plate, I am.

Someone’s gonna see me in that negligee, by God, and not just someone, but the whole goddamn town when they come out to pay their respects. My after wishes are in writin’ and bonafide, notar-ied, that is.

When I’m no longer here, all this body and flesh you’ve been not even given a looksee, just takin’ what you want when you want it, is gonna get that looksee, it’s gonna get a lot of ‘em.

I’m gonna fry your eggs, Ed, I’m gonna fry ‘em good and hard.