You dragged me to the show at Corona Theatre
telling me, wait, just wait
and I waited, but nothing happened. I made
up a lot of poems in my head,
of how much I hated their sound in 1997
and it could have been so much of a better
year if you never bought me those tickets.
Please do not remind me of Andre
who gifted me Ratt tickets and ditched
me so I ran to the mosh pit with my brother
and flannel shirts weren’t in style yet.
the boys like you, he laughed, buying me another
round of beer at sixteen.
The energy reminded me of how
I loved every ounce of your being.
When you approached me, when
you didn’t. When you sat next to me,
when you didn’t. When you fell for me,
when you didn’t. The music aroused me
as you knew it would, but Nina Simone
kept playing in the background of your
old apartment building on the corner of
Jeanne-Mance, right near the hotel
where I lost my virginity at.
You rolled your
eyes at me, like I was just another girl.
you’re the one, you said, you have to
be the mother of my children.
I suppose those are the reasons
you got down on one knee
imagining this is what I wanted.
I took the subway to my American Lit
class, it was starting in twenty minutes.
Fuck, I was late again.
The professor invited me over.
God, how complicated
I should write a thesis.
I should give him a blowjob.
I should become a writer.
I should teach.
I should eat his enchilada
it was Mexican night
for the grad students.
No, I’m an undergrad.
All the while, there were no cell phones,
no text messaging.
Just me and the grad students
and Mexican night.
So I sat on this bed
and had an interesting conversation
with the professor’s son.
He was eleven.
I slipped out the backdoor.
Ain’t got no smokes, I sang to myself.
I come up for air once in a while,
most of the time
I write in my head.