Forced It (Give me a break, I needed to write even though I'm not feeling it)

I jerked her by the collar and smacked
my lips. There was lilac in her hair that reminded me
of mom and dad and their divorce
that wasn't my fault. They had never gotten
the sailboat that they had wanted
to take over tumultuous seas to Cuba in hurricane season.
Driftwood lined the beach of the long
silence between them at the dinner table,
powdered mashed potatoes substituting
for a child with an MD, JD,
architecture training, computer science background,
teachers license, TIG welding certificate, or a degree
in video game design from a community college.
I sat there with my sallow complexion gazing at
the potatoes wondering why my promotion
had been a pink slip.

They rose from the table and said "Good
luck, I hope you find happiness," as I remained
stationary at the mahogany table, eyes transfixed on
the potatoes with strings
that tugged at my skin from the inside
with the aid of pulleys.

And the phone rang and it was her.

I met her in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.
She held out her hand
for my key because she will only be
with somebody with an MD, JD.
I reached out for her collar.