My old buddy, my body!
What happened to drive us apart?
Think of our trips to Bologna.
Think of our Ducati racebikes screaming.
We drank hypersonic grappa.

We got near the screaming Goyas.
What’s blinding is Velázquez.
We never left the Prado—
And never saw Madrid!
That’s what we did.

We met for lunch at the Paris Ritz.
We walked arm in arm
Through Place Vendôme.
Each put out a wrist
To try on a watch at Patek Philippe.

Unseparated Siamese twins,
We had to have the same girlfriend
And slept with her together.
We hopped on the Concorde,
Front cabin, seat 1.

Oh not to be meek and ache
And drop dead straining on the toilet seat.
Everyone on the sidewalk walks faster—
And didn’t you use to walk
Springing up on the balls of your feet!

A single-engine light airplane
Snores in the slow blue dreamy afternoon.
This is our breakup.
We are down here falling apart.
The ocean crashes and crashes.

I put my arms around you—
But it’s no good.
I climb the stairs—
It’s not the same.
It’s a flameout and windmill restart!

This Issue

December 9, 2010