Love and Disillusionment. For Nights Like These
Monica Koenig
Until I was baptized in the dark dirty Mississippi
the clichés of wading through August moonlight
and spitting the gravel road
out from between my teeth
meant nothing.
Now I have romance on speed dial
for nights like these
when the
temptation to melt old film
of people I never knew
and Nabokov talks
about his delicious little girls
is boring. so boring, so boring.
And
my glass
doesn’t quite fit
in the cup holder
of my car.
So
God waves
at a one-handed Buddha.
and Jesus winks
at the boy who fucks me
while trying not to spill
the martini
balanced on my back
Nights like these my eyelashes are wet
and he’s mouthing the words
to the broken phonograph.
and we’re so in love. so in love. so in love.
