I only blog for poetry.
Pour myself another root beer
in case I forget the punch line.
Why have I done this
for years and years (these root beers)?
He just came, you’re
stupid, and nothing will ever
be as it once was. And this is
okay. Seriously, once you get
going with these things it’s really
hard to stop. Red skies at
night, a new version of
Yahoo, the cat bites off
half my hand (rippled palms).
Pour another soda for
six and a half years
of strawberry cake (you)
and tea (me). “I’m envious of you!”
Of this, I don’t think he knew
exactly what was meant. Such
auteur nonsense took balls
and I wanted to love the wrong person
for it.
It was a moment for the record.
It was a moment.
