Ziggy

No problem getting a room
at the Aku-Aku for Mick’s
going-away party.
Just wore a tube top.

 

Cheryl and Don are making out
on the bed. I’m in the bathroom,
smoking a joint, thinking,
I could be married to Mickey.

 

Picket fence. Station wagon.
Babies. Babies. Babies.

 

I ruin a tube of slut-red lipstick
writing a poem on the mirror.

 

Graveyards and headstones
are merely a lie.
People never live
therefore they can’t die.

 

Instead of signing my name, I build
a Kleenex bonfire in the sink and

 

go blurry when white burns black.