an Escapist's Fantasy
by Dana Neily
Sometimes I fantasize about leaving you.
I drape against the doorway, telling you I found someone else.
Her name is Karen. She has two dogs and you’re allergic.
His name is Justin. He writes me songs when it rains.
In my fantasies, I am a pathological liar.
The clichés roll on from there, changing my name,
Dying my hair. Blue but not robin’s egg, ocean wave, idealized blue.
Fake blue, obnoxious blue, the colour of cheap bus seats.
Sometimes I skip town, sometimes I only move apartments and
You see me in the grocery line-up and don’t recognize me.
Once, you ask me for my number, and I – behind
My shades and thick perfume – decline in a fake accent.
In reality, I don’t wear sunglasses because contacts
Burn my eyes and perfume gives me migraines.
In reality, I’ve never let any colour touch my hair
Because I’m afraid it will ruin my natural highlights and
You are my favourite thing in the world.