Love Song

I’d like three, maybe four things from life:

1) a respectable job

2) silk sheets that are never cold

3) a fast car

I write this down on a sheet of paper

and fold it until my hands hurt.

At 9:10, I board the subway alone — 

It’s not uncommon.

I recall a short poem written by Brautigan

who said in the end it’s good to wake up

and not have to tell someone you love them

when you don’t love them anymore

but I’ve been telling myself

that sometimes you don't need 

to get up

to know something's gone.

On these nights where the subways

are empty as ancient caverns,

I suddenly remember the smell of pineapple on your hands

and the way you walked toward me those sandy mornings

not sure where to look.

Let me tell you what’s done is done.