Acceptance

 

is a taxi ride to a far-off airport. You pay tolls,
your phone runs out of battery, the rain hasn't
stopped in sixteen days. The tunnel floods. "The
car, she is now boat!" the driver tells you in his
sticky Egyptian accent, plunging through the one
remaining lane. He wants to know why you have
not married your boyfriend. He wants to know
why you don't want to have kids. He says
boyfriends are just for sex. He says ever since
that one condom broke and his wife got pregnant,
they stop, right at the end. He pulls out and
"trows everyting away." You are supposed to
feel uncomfortable now, and maybe you do, but
you just raise an eyebrow. "That's not a very
effective form of birth control," you admonish, 
then flip open the dead phone. "Excuse me, I
have to take this call."

                —Tiffany Lee Brown



Excerpted from A Compendium of Miniatures, prose poems by Tiffany Lee Brown. Tiger Food Press, Portland, 2007.