Muriel, it’s been forty-four years and
I still think about you everyday.
I met you in the rain on the last day
of 1972, the same day I resolved to **** myself.
You were the **** store employee
wearing a chartreuse shirt. I was, of course,
the naked thirty-something with a few good teeth,
unafflicted by any social diseases.
You told me I had great veins.