We played it every night

In the iceberg
was trapped a music box
19th century

We played it every night
Because you drink like a fish
And needed a way to go to sleep

One day you came home
Four vodka tonics in
And said
“You know all that ugly shit
people have in their houses.
They picked out all that furniture

“You can really tell
if you’ll love a person
by how their house makes you feel,”
I said.

“…It didn’t land there
by accident or was delivered
by a ghost salvation army truck.
Some people just have no taste.”

So we threw out
the ass cushions
we got from the Indian store
and the lantern
you had stolen
once while on a bender
from that Mediterranean restaurant

They just let you have it
Another bored idiot

And me
I hung it up
And tried to match the drapes to it
Nothing see-through
for the night time

We had some African bowls
Giant. For family salads

You threw up in one
So we left it on the balcony
And let snow collect in it

The couch
you threw out alone
Because you were too distracted
sitting on it
to write

Then we were
in an empty apartment
talking about
how we don’t have sex enough


Poets too

We’re walking along
some rocky beach
in the middle of the fucking night
with a flashlight
to see a turtle hatch eggs
in a hole

I’m dressed like a slut
because I’m always thinking of sex
While he gets turned on
by the plop of turtle eggs

I have to take my heels off
to walk in the sand
and he’s mad that we’re walking slow
and he has to support me
by holding my hand

They’re always the same
The science freaks
Never picked up a book
in their life
“Yea my girlfriend writes poems.
Don’t know what the hell
goes on inside her head.
But we understand each other.
It’s all fine. Dysfunctional but happy,
ain’t that just love.”

They think they’re poets too

I sent him updates 

He would never reply to me anymore
I sent him updates
Like talking to myself
Like a journal

Went to Mexico
Got a tan
I look like honey
I want us in white sheets
At sunset
I want you to admire my skin

Contemplated suicide
Remembered I was a coward

Drank tea all day
Felt good
Now wired
Still unemployed

I got an email from another ghost
I’ve got a few
Funny how you’re glad
To hear from them

“Sorry to reply so late
…this email was three years late
to reach me.”

I’m dreaming of running away
To a foreign country
But reality could always slap me
With corrupt government officials
Tiny apartments
Dirty water
Overpriced food

I wonder if he’ll reply
To Neruda poems
It worked once