June 1, 2012

Summer is here and I look for you
under the shade of some tree in
New Jersey. Once, I could have

found you. Not that you don’t occupy
that arboreal darkness, I’m sure; but
certainly, I am no longer welcome.

A dress on the ground just draws
the ends of my stomach-knot tighter.

There are things I dread: that Puerto-
Rican parade, the Fourth, beach houses
(don’t ask), your sister.

***

You’ve been slipping ever since the
31st, which is great, but why don’t
you hurry up already and get the
fuck out of my life for the third time?

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