Flashing Yellow-
The yellow lights are flashing—
caution—
a pause.
And I find myself thinking,
between floods of emotion,
where the phlegm in my chest
wants to escape as tears out my eyes.
The greatest heartbreak
is that he didn’t talk to me
on my birthday.
OK, fine—Christmas.
OK, fine—New Year’s.
But my birthday?
How many birthdays has it been
where we haven’t spoken?
Where I get no acknowledgement
for being alive?
⸻
2. The Painter-
Heartbroken,
a mess with men,
I park in front of the jazz club
with a new beau—
a young painter,
fairly talented,
fairly handsome,
who pays for everything
the whole night.
So I go back
to his small apartment
that smells like turpentine.
He takes off my clothes
and tries to have *** with me.
I say “no.”
He persists.
I say “no” again.
He backs off, asking,
“Do I get anything in return?”
I say, “no.”
He says,
“I plan on making you my girlfriend.”
I say,
“so?”
The answer is still “no.”
And I leave.
⸻
3. First Snow-
It’s past two a.m.
and snowing—
the first snow of the year.
I think about yesterday.
How I was asked
to be a **** model
for ten photographers—
a hundred dollars an hour
for two hours.
And to sign away
my rights
to every photo.
I feel more than ****.
I feel
see through.
2012 January