Being Brad Pitt

The other night, I asked this really hot girl at the bar if I could buy her a drink. She refused. She said she would say no even if Brad Pitt had asked. She was a lesbian. And that is the closest I’ve come to being Brad Pitt.

The next year

The next year
is so far

though nothing
compared to the time

for which
the warm ripples
of your absence
have eroded
my smile

my lips
are now a child’s
forgotten play:

a thin horizontal
line he drew
with a crumbling

and did not skip
to collect
the shells
you left behind

now that you hope
to visit
next year,

I need
to do
of my blackened

stop holding
the simmering
between them

on sleepless nights
on the shore

I need to prepare
to hold
the burning moon.