As the café fills
with youthful chatter
and screechy laughter
I wonder
what it’d be like to have a friend.

At the billiards
hip teens lovingly roast each other—
their style and form
bring warmth to my lonely day.
Would I ever play billiards
or is that game
reserved for people who have friends?

I sip my strawberry tea
and imagine
having a good friend
To unwind with storytelling and gossip

We'd drink pink martinis
and be so chic in black.
And we'd be loud and open.
I'd be so happy
That I'd never have to write poetry again.

As the fantasy fades
I smile into my strawberry tea
Not too pink, but plenty of sweet.
This is alright. This cold drink is a friend.

I feel within my gender
in a realm of passion
and Russian literature.

A king of dreams and strife
leads me to myself
as our culture dies on the other side.
Who are we to **** our culture?
Or it did perish in Hiroshima and Nagasaki?
Did you know that those atomic bombs were made with love
—or if you will, a broken heart?

Can you imagine—a love destroyed a culture!
Imagine, if my love destroyed our culture?

My language is young and not so wordy.
complex ideas give birth to simple sentences
This style is a pleasure for worldly ears.

Your style is old and dramatic—
who are you to bore an innocent girl
with your dry stories
of bourgeoisie boys and sand people!

My king of dreams and strife
translates poetry into destruction,
while you create sorrow within our dying culture.

There was once a guy named Tom
who dropped an hydrogen bomb
and all went ka-bam
that broke all the dams and he swam
where he eventually ended up in Guam.