A poem for yous.
This is for the first time
in a hot tub.
For the top bunk when
my room was still green
Naive at 21, flicking
the turn signal at Frederick boulevard
that sort of happened, didn’t it?
For hats coming off, by accident.
For knuckles brushing, by accident.
For two minutes, by accident.
For please stops not working.
For rusted over eyelids.
For a heart clutched in the palm of some woman on a train in Europe.
For waving bye to tall, dark and handsome.
For being lost in translation
floating in some rich lady’s pool on 64th.
For the first broken heart, bobbing by your board
while you block the Puerta Rican sun
with your right hand.
This is for all the yous that followed
bunched together;
a collapsed accordian of boxcars carrying
nothing.
This is for running downhill in Ischia
hotel keys dangling in a trembling hand.
This is for a television sitting on your couch.
This is for lost souls.
This is for found moments.
This is for early departures.
This is for leaving, by choice.
