Erase (NaPoWriMo #11)

Is it movie cliché
that brains remember who we loved before war
prior to alien invasion?

Or is this fact
what we’ll face in 2064, 3018, when the world
is no longer ours?

Tom’s who you’d pick to convince
he was it, forgot
when they wiped every memory
with purse-size sanitizer

and any dream with a face like yours in it
he has
is epiphany

and in a past-life or this one
just, like, decades ago
you were together

and if he’d re-ring it
put another on it
you’d save the world and shit.
tom c

How To Be Brave

Saying never is an asking-for-it move and your vows were, “Never you, not you, no,” but me now. And me.

What we bill split I’ll receipt tick and box keep with every egg shell breakfast, cinema stub, left sock, under my bed.

Going back and over what’s said is satisfying when forever can be coddled again. Our always might just be on tap.

Empire State of Ira Lightman

Jack says, “I’ll meet you on the Empire State,” meaning the top, at a prescribed time, carrying flowers.

“What for?” I ask him, sure we’re past grand gestures which are essentially superficial moves with ulterior motives. We’ve had sex, what more could he want?

“There can be romance in anniversary, in marking pasts, futures, constructing events that mean nothing to people who aren’t us, enacting movies we’ve not seen and ones that we have, sure that our lives are more Tom Hanks Castaway, than Meg Ryan New York. But we’ll try, suggest places in cities spread out on classroom maps, flat, inaccurate. And we won’t make most of them, don’t have the cash or stamina to see the settings of movies, aren’t actors with wages enough to get flowers each time we fuck up. But this, the first, give me it. Meet me. Pretend we think this will last.”

“Okay,” I say but I’m minutes late and he leaves and I list what I’ve stolen in life, from whom, and I figure how to give it back. Starting with Ira.


Real Charlie

Sometimes the real you isn’t you at all. But family and friends convince you you’re definitely one of them. No-one’s ever fit succinctly into the unique holes they’re cutting for others, but you’re the closest and that’s got to be fateful or, at the very least, meaningful. No-one considers they’re desperate, they’ll let anybody be what they’re after if it means one less night looking in TV guides, a Sunday without a solo cinema trip. Although some people like that, but it’s not what you like but what you should that’s important. So keep the game up, and the extensions plugged in and the hair colour a shade off the other people in your new circles. You don’t want to be dull, but noticeable’s almost as bad in situations when you’re pretending to be who someone else thinks you are.

Sometimes the real you is called Lola.