No One Says You Have To Keep Going Like A Shark Until You Die

But they think it.
In 5:00 traffic, the song
in the car is an echo
of the first time
I heard the song: buried
somewhere in my stomach
it reminds me
of my sinking, it doesn’t matter
where you are anymore
because now you’re there
but not really
& I hate how I want
these things that are gone
how I carry an idea
around with which to eat
myself from the inside
again—again, there’s that bathroom
stall at the bar on Riverside
where someone wrote with a knife
or a key I still love you,
their name crossed out.
Again there’s the night I made dinner
for my mom, where drinking we laughed
about how her first husband
was dirt now, the guilt
after you find yourself drifted
beyond grief
somewhere colder & brighter
& you hate it for that.
Again the summer
I realized this was it you were scrambling
eggs for the time
being, before
I left & we forgot
to keep in touch.
If there’s a theme it’s abandon
-ment, it’s exhaust
-ion. When
I find
a reason from the past
for the way
I’m hurt now I’m afraid
this false crutch hides
something deeper
within the fabric of my self
& I’m ignoring it.
There’s the man standing
at the light who tries
to hand me a plastic flower
but the light turns green.
I don’t know what I would have done
with the flower
if I had it, if I’d stretched
out & thanked him
but the light after that
is always green too.