for j.m. from a different year

early autumn valentines remembered
with such full blown clarity as this
could kill another man standing.
but mine, warm & virulent as they are,
evergreen & growing still...
can only shake me up a bit,
2002 A.D., notwithstanding.
(a series of essential mistakes,
derailments & long delays,
hardly worth the mention.)

my new city is full of sad libraries,
which are filled w/ full-grown
latchkey delinquents,
little girls & slow footsteps.
the windows inside are mirrors,
but the walls are hardly childproof.
the bus stops around town are haunted
by developmentally-disabled spirits,
they ward away good intentions,
& weather cold stares like statues.
(a little-known fact that makes the rounds
as a rumor every few moons. most folks
don’t believe it until it follows them home)

if we only could’ve gone farther west
than the skin-colored bricks of Riverside Drive,
we might’ve made it through winter.
or if we’d headed back east, past the
bankrupt bars we’d closed down like officers,
we could’ve danced through the worst times
to the jukebox between your ears, i swear
i might’ve found the nerve to hold the rhythm,
i know i could’ve listened to your pulse forever.
(too many square feet in one dive can
kill a man’s business, and it will, quicker
than an accident, and vultures like us will
come to look at what’s left.)