“I’ve been better,” she said.

Four days in this flea market,
and I think the fluorescent lights
were starting to seriously fuck
with my appetite, my dirty skin,
my lucky fingernails, and my ability
to appreciate,
but not worship,
complicated hallucinations.

But I was still happy to see a friendly face,
and I didn’t want to ask her about the bruises,
the missing eye,
or the fact that she never did pick me up
at the station.

But give me ten years,
and I can let go of most things.

I can wish my father well.
I can show up for that one wedding clean-shaven.
I can love someone, who has every right not to love me back.

“How have you been?”

The other shoppers were Moses strong,
and I could feel my tongue getting hot again.

I looked at her.
I couldn’t remember.
I lied.

08/20/2013

Posted on 08/20/2013
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