You know, I always thought I had a fairly fine tuned sense of irony,
but your Kauffmanesque Shenanigans have proved that my sense of humor isn’t as good as yours.
(And forgive the handwriting; riding the Blue-Line EL standing is a lot like surfing.)
It’s not that I grew tired of you.
It’s just that in all break-ups friends have to pick sides,
and you were her friend first.
(I hope I can still call you friend.)
She wasn’t willing to accept the ending as written,
or you gave her a gentle little nudge.
I was pas the CTA,
past the moving walkways,
past the murals,
past the FAR too many sister cities,
(the mother city MUST be a Catholic,
that or she really likes to fuck,)
passed the sixpence-tipped saxaphone player who sold me God’s blessing.
passed the ticket counter,
past the cold-eyed security X-rays.
You get the point.
I was passed a lot of shit.
My phone buzzed.
You wanted to meet me at Chicago (Station)
And yes I get the Irony.
There was pain in your text-
(and yes, I used the word text in a poem, deal)
You asked if I would come to you.
Of course. I always will.
And I do.
Together we eat not quite sliders, not quite hamburgers and I read your letter.
It starts by saying you can’t write like me-
(Which is a damn lie)
and the rest,
sorry my faceless friend.
Some beauty is just for me.
Did you watch, Chicago,
as we dined on greasy tater tots in catsup and mustard and we talked out our fears?
When we smiled together again?
When the fucking check took forever,
as though the waitress was giving us the gift of more time?
(Or giving someone head in the back? Either way,
thank you, miss.
I hope you didn’t neglect the boys.)
Did you smile?
Did you know?
Did you watch us freed of our break neck L+3,
as we settled into a gloriously uncertain “We’ll see?”
Did you breath in our soft exhales of second-hand menthol as we shared a cigarette?
Did you watch as I kissed her,
flipping off God?
(Or the sun, if that offends you.)
There are no true happy endings,
not in books and not in life,
but there ARE:
Moments of Promise.
Of “We’ll see.”
The future is uncertain.
Life is in flux.
The train is still running, but the engineer is dead.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.