Let’s forget about the 70s.
Your voice bears the sentimentality of a
pair of underwear I can’t quite recall.
Look.
Look at what?
Last night at midnight after my athletic guest left
I felt tired. Clear it out. Watch the sidewalk
with Jay Leno. Carter skewers Reagan with a latté.
Apartments for rent. Your condo’s on fire
and the water’s too loud. Chaste enough?
My mind was already empty anyway.
Something about it didn’t sit right with me. Gasoline.
