THREE POEMS ABOUT HIS EX
She was the one with you in LA,
in the house you emptied of furniture-
everything pawned to buy drugs.
The only thing left was the phone,
which she set on an overturned box.
Most nights you sat with the lights off
in your mutual agonies,
dopesick, both watching the phone,
waiting for your dealer to call.
She tells you it was a mistake to move here
where the sun always shines-
because in the light, you can see too clearly
what a mess you have made of your life.
My favorite poem of his is written about her.
In it, she is picking all the cashews
out of the mixed nuts
whenever he leaves their room,
while they vacation in St. Lucia.
Sounds like something I would do,
but I’ve never been there with him.
I guess it doesn’t matter anyway,
the poem has already been written
about someone else.
The gliding sound of glass in a socket,
eyes rocked open to blue;
I am wearing her eyes
but I still see you clearly–
and you should smile more often.