Worlds Unimagined
Mutual

I hope you can never find another man.
I hope your life from this point forward consists of a string
of worsening blind dates.
I hope that every time your friend tells you he’s a great guy and a doctor
she neglects to mention he’s missing an ear or a nose,
and he orders heavy red wine with fish.
I hope you always have to fake it.
I hope that every time they roll over, panting, huffing, short of breath,
they ask you if it was as good for you as it was for them
and the best lie you can come up with is, “yeah, sure.”
I hope you meet your celebrity crush only to spill your drink
down the front of your shirt and have him laugh in your face.
I hope you find someone that loves and completes you
and dies in a freak accident on a ferris wheel.
I hope you get turned down by an entire chapter of sex addicts anonymous.
I hope a secret admirer buys you a gorgeous, sumptuous evening gown
that is the wrong size, and leaves the wrong name on the card.
I hope you become so bad at flirting you turn straight men gay.
I hope your cats all die of a rare disease.
I hope your best friend leaves you and tells you she always found you boring.
I hope your possessions all go up in a fire and you don’t have insurance.
I hope you date men who read books and keep exotic plants
and train for marathons and file their own taxes
and at the end of the night invariably say you’re nice and all,
but they’re just way too good for you.
I hope you look in a mirror in ten years and see a hollow shell of a person,
and quit your job for a three-year soulsearch at the end of which
you think you’ve found a chance to start again with a Civil War reenactor
named Ted who, let’s be honest, isn’t the brightest or most physically fit,
but at least wants kids and can hold a steady job,
only for him to die on a ferris wheel too.
I hope your life is so traumatizing it gives you amnesia
and you have to go through the whole thing again.
I hope you get fat.
I hope you get bad at sex.
I hope a carful of drunk sixteen-year-olds knocks down your mailbox with a golf club.
I hope you come back.
I hope you forget what I said.
I hope you drop by the apartment to pick up the Japanese plant
your mother bought you for Christmas.
It blooms in the winter. The flowers are yellow.