Tuesday, February 28, 2012


I’m only going to say this once, my friend:
Everybody talks to me about everything.
And when I say everything, I mean the stuff
People don't even tell their therapists--
And when I say everybody, I mean
The German-, French-, and English-speaking world.

So when you start talking generically
About that brief affair you had, or how
You made a few mistakes a few months back,
Or that hot married woman you hooked up with,
Or how you started seeing your New Love
A week ago? Trust me--this isn’t news.
I already know every last detail.

That married woman? We had lunch last week.
Your brief affair? Oh please--it never stopped,
At least according to the other party.
I know you started hooking up with your
New Love six months ago because she went
And introduced you to her bestest friend,
Who then told me. I know the names
Of all your sad mistakes, and even where
You made them, because every single one
Of them told me or told a friend of mine
Every last detail, from the flirty texts
To all the angry e-mails at the end.

So every time you skate around the truth
Or tell me half a story, just remember:
I am a walking tabloid morgue of gossip.
I am a front page of the New York Post
With your name on it. I’m the Wikileaks
Of libel. And the only thing that stops
Your secrets from all getting Google hits
Is that I am ten times more trustworthy
Than a deaf priest in a confessional.
Which means I will not speak to anyone
Of what you say to me, any more than
I will repeat what I’ve been told of you.

Just know I know.

What’s new?

Copyright 2012 Matthew J Wells

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