I can still hear you saying,
"This too shall seem trivial,"
everytime this city gets me down.

I keep a picture of you in my wallet,
hell, I've got pictures of you all over
the apartment, and even
a collection of your hairpins,
under the middle cushion of the couch.

It's hard not to waste hours writing
about the summer I spent
all my money on semi-precious stones,
and you blew yours on hotel beds.

When that Mike-Something weatherman
comes on the television,
I still remember your remarks
about his multitude of chins,
and I get sentimental for the sound of my laughter.
It was much finer then.

I've watched wonderful loves
throw bracelets I bought for them,
I've watched quaking bodies
beg to rekindle the flame,
but with you I expected something more.

I hope whichever Carolina
you settled in treats you well.