June 14, 2024Anniversary
for Alex Dimitrov
I was crying in front of the Quick Trip
because I was out of cigarettes
and left my wallet at home and
it was my anniversary and so it was
New Year’s Eve, and already too much
had gone wrong for me too often
to feel conspicuous about it,
crying, I mean, since it is the end
of articulate speech and why
one leaves most crying men alone.
I didn’t look up from my hands
for almost an hour, and when I did,
my eyes two fish-eyed lenses, I saw
the blurred moon and another man
crying, filling up his car, looking at me.
“I’m crying because you are,” he whispered
loudly over. “I’m also crying because
maybe it means one of us must stop soon.”
from #47 - Spring 2015