In Heartbreak a half hour till sun-up
the barman dances with his best friend’s wife
to George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex,”
a loaded handgun tucked into his
beltless jeans. Opposite the jukebox
the game of 8-ball in the green felt glare
stops on a sloppy break that sends the cue
ball rolling between the legs of a bride
from Indiana whose husband is
interested, he tells the barman, in some
breakfast. That gets a laugh from the few of
us still hearing in English. The barman
says, “Well, could all use a little breakfast.”
The couple laughs like they heard some kind of joke.
On Sterling Place
I walk behind a man
walking home. He waves
to nine people who wave back.
This is, like, New York.
you no longer believe
things will change.
of your ex-wife’s poems
your own –
that hardly matters.
you have learned
not to ask questions
when they cry in your bed—