Denise Duhamel     Hollywood    ​ (Gregg Shapiro)
How It Will End

We’re walking on the boardwalk
but stop when we see a lifeguard and his girlfriend 
fighting.  We can’t hear what they’re saying,
but it is as good as a movie.  We sit on a bench to find out
how it will end. I can tell by her body language 
he’s done something really bad.  She stands at the bottom 
of the ramp that leads to his hut. He tries to walk halfway down 
to meet her, but she keeps signaling don’t come closer.
My husband says,  “Boy, he’s sure in for it,”
and I say, “He deserves whatever’s coming to him.”
My husband thinks the lifeguard’s cheated, but I think 
she’s sick of him only working part time
or maybe he forgot to put the rent in the mail.
The lifeguard tries to reach out  
and she holds her hand like Diana Ross 
when she performed “Stop in the Name of Love.” 
The red flag that slaps against his station means strong currents.  
“She has to just get it out of her system,” 
my husband laughs, but I’m not laughing.
I start to coach the girl to leave the no-good lifeguard,
but my husband predicts she’ll never leave.
I’m angry at him for seeing glee in their situation 
and say, “That’s your problem--you think every fight 
is funny.  You never take her seriously” and he says, 
“You never even give the guy a chance and you’re always nagging, 
so how can he tell the real issues from the nitpicking?”
and I say, “She doesn’t nitpick!” and he says, “Oh really?
Maybe he should start recording her tirades,” and I say
“Maybe he should help out more,” and he says
“Maybe she should be more supportive,” and I say
“Do you mean supportive or do you mean support him?”
and my husband says that he’s doing the best he can,
that’s he’s a lifeguard for Christ’s sake, and I say
that her job is much harder, that she’s a waitress 
who works nights carrying heavy trays and is hit on all the time 
by creepy tourists and he just sits there most days napping 
and listening to “Power 96” and then ooh 
he gets to be the big hero blowing his whistle 
and running into the water to save beach bunnies who flatter him
and my husband says it’s not as though she’s Miss Innocence
and what about the way she flirts, giving free refills 
when her boss isn’t looking or cutting extra large pieces of pie 
to get bigger tips, oh no she wouldn’t do that because she’s a saint 
and he’s the devil, and I say, “I don’t know what you can’t just admit 
he’s a jerk,” and my husband says, “I don’t know why you can’t admit 
she’s a killjoy,” and then out of the blue the couple is making up.
The red flag flutters, then hangs limp.
She has her arms around his neck and is crying into his shoulder.
He whisks her up into his hut. We look around, but no one is watching us.   

from Blowout (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2013)