It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

The sin is existing.

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

I am still waiting for the lion

you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.