“You Tell Me, Then”
You tell me, then, what’s so important here,
Your yesterday, your sweet mañana, what?
Your last romance, your latest hit, the spat
You had last night while bringing up the rear?
And when the flags are down, the spit’s been turned, what dreams
Have so much weight that while you burn you’d love to chat?
But you’ve got more fat to chew and so we’ll hit on that
When you get back? Perhaps next week? You’ve reams
To read, and by the time you’ve circled twice a globe again
You’ll have another stack to seed your wanderlust and goals
To recreate themselves from quires of penny stocks to solid bars of gold,
And you’ll be asking me to hold that conversation in the pouring rain
As if it were our first. But that’s the point, my dear, the die is cast,
That first egregious rush of joy turns out to be your last.