WHAT'S LEFT NOW

you used to look
like some
come-hither
spectre,

washing his car
in your bikini

only one
block from me;
I kept
driving past
too fast
to see
intentionally.

what's left now
is the ghost
of desire dragged through
the suds of what never was.

A WARNING

follow this
connected age
to the ends
of your acquaintances
and you will
really discover
how dreadfully
alone
we are together.

AND WHAT IF IT DID

all this
seeking
something transcendent

reveals nothing

transcends.

WHAT CAN NEVER FADE

your father's memory
is not what
it was.

you drove him to
the alzheimer's
specialist.

"your father has
the wrong day,"
the doctor says.

"maybe you have
the wrong day,"
you say.

you must
really
love your father.

FALSE BRAVADO

You wear Detroit
like old clothes,
broken in.