worst

a woman came into the coffeeshop yesterday,

with the depressed boring mid-forties guy

who part-combs his hair on the right, which is supposed to indicate something about his personality:

 we suspect he's a highly visual, musical, pictoral person, & feminine

and he has large wire-framed glasses,

and a nondescript buttondown shirt.

They always come in together

he pushes her wheelchair up to the counter, he stands behind her

she makes the difficult choice to order as she does always, an ice t,

maybe a stickybun.

He regards her impatiently, black coffee. They pay separately & sit at a table together & never speak.

I like to imagine that they are a couple

but that he didn't know what he was getting into,

she seemed so great at first. So uncomplicated

Or, or... they're both musical geniuses, but she was taking his spotlight

like in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

and he ran her over with his car

and has to take care of her for the rest of their miserable lives.

But, she's probably his sister

and she lives in the samaritan home

and he takes her for a fucking ice t every monday

She was wearing shades yesterday,

sortof big black moviestar shades

and she always has on these athleticlooking gloves 

so she doesn't get wheel-burn

& a thick black knee brace

on her thick doughknee

It was hard to make out her shirt,

smashed, as it was, beneath her breasts

and faded, she's had it awhile

but on it read

SARCASM (& in ornate script, the thesis) just one of my many talents

& I was like, o damn,

I guess they got me

what I'm doing

smoking them all. He smoked me

we wrote this poem together, it crept down to the corner of the table

& my script, my script I couldn't see with one eye

but it's legible

So I have this porch, this balcony

the Smoker's Balcony

My Balcony

Sparkle Porch

and I have bsu sweatpants

and a navy wool coat

and the baby blanket 

and brown leather moccasins

(beaded, of course)

and this forever collie

and a cocktail

(in a cool GLASS)

& I'm saying goodbye

to a thing that isn't a secret thing

but the goodbye has to be secret. If I go on giving it up, what will I have to tell them I've proved?

       (and by them) I really mean me & all of the mes in me

goodnight see you tomorrow