A Poem by Milly Pinkos
I will see your name and
the words you’ve written me,
I’ll see it all
everywhere I go.
And I hope you see all mine, too.
I hope the moon is so dull
and lifeless
without me
that you think aliens,
or terrorists, or God
have done something to it.
I hope the voice of Billie Holiday
is so pleasing to your ears but
grating on your heart
that all you want to do is bury your head,
but the agony is so beautiful
and delicious
that you keep listening.
I hope your poetry and your music
are tainted with excruciating regret,
stained with shame, and desire,
and longing.
I want guilt to give you a black eye
or a broken ankle,
but not pierce you with a
gunshot or stab wound.
I want regret to
show up at your house in a limo,
filled with all the fixings,
and drive you back to my feet.
Only to discover that you
will have to be the one
to pay the exorbitant bill,
but for the limo that drove
you back to me,
you will be happy to.