The cassette player

would sit on the cabinet shelf.

Cassettes were tiny

objects

of mysterious mechanics.

I’d play her over

and over,

daydreaming

about the recording studio&bottled; water

from a foreign country,

about Manhattan avenues&

stretched SUVs,

Lincoln limos fur coats

the flavor of the nineties.

I’m walking the avenues

today.

The same steam as in 1999

blowing up from manholes.

I own these streets

today

with keys to an apartment

jingling in my coat’s pocket.

I came from afar,

I played with words,

and made it here.

I’ll talk to you
like this
with words shiny on screens
as if
we’re lovers
separated by miles
of sea.
We’re stupid and we’re poor,
you can’t send me your thoughts
as if
I’m your hero
in a faraway war.
By this
I mean to keep us alive
in you
through the months&miles.;
So that you don’t grow fond of
what I’ve come to mean
for you
but of what I’m made of.