A New Poem


How can I possibly call you? It’s
too much to think about, I

push the phone aside.

Back in the old days things were different, I’d
clamber over to you with the
beady-eyed selfishness       of the innocent
and lay my blonde head in your lap.

It was summer in Minneapolis,
I can still hear the wind in the leaves, the
sound of a tide rushing by my window

Back in the old days I got up with the new light, fell out of bed on all fours, like a cat, I
was never tired or hungry or sick. Back in the old days you sang while you did the dishes and
when you’d put records on I’d jump on the couch
like a trampoline

Life was slow, then. Every day was one million todays.

“This is how things are,” you said. “And may they forever be.”

Back in the old days —

Oh hell.

Who are we trying to kid?

Nothing has changed, I always knew
the stakes

We talked on the phone the other day, you and I
and I could have brought something up, I

but I didn’t.

It would have led to trouble, and trouble is something I just can’t take
any more of, this week.

There’s this and that and that and this, and you and her and him and me
When it rains, it pours, goes the saying etc etc etc

Only it is truly raining here;
people are taking buckets into their basements, we haven’t seen the sun
in days, today I heard a man at work saying
he thought he saw it
for a moment
but he couldn’t remember
what the damn thing looked like.

It’s funny how we can
grow accustomed
to just about anything

I wonder
when that happened

between you and I

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