On Broadway and Jefferson,
Hello?
Anyone there?
Sixteen TicTac packs snap back
but you didn’t pick up.
I thought we said 8.
T to K
C to the F
PDX to NYC
IDK to ILY
I suck at brushing my teeth.
I let the yellow rot away until
all that’s left are the pink gum nubs.
I suck at nail-care,
cuticle-vanity-don’t-you-dare.
I shove pencils into the flesh between
the keratin and my skin until
they shine grey with graphite.
HINGE!
Did you end up going out with Hinge guy?
Oh, he’s funny,
he’s smart,
and at the end of the night,

he let me let him

push me up
against a wall in Bushwick and round the bases.
I’ll use the yeast to make 
bread in the dining hall.
Want a piece?

On Broadway and Jefferson,
a lonely sight to see.
A Union Square white party,
but NYU baddies
dance on the corner of Kenmare and Delancey.
How Fancy.
Just imagine,
if your husband weren’t
down-on-his-luck-don’t-give-a-fuck
in-between-jobs-making-corn-on-the-cob
then yesterday we wouldn’t have traveled
back in time.
I think you’re funny.
I think I laugh when I’m around you
but cry when I’m not beside you
but love when I’m inside you
but need you to call me when you’re
two thousand miles away.
I think you’re funny that way.

On Broadway and Jefferson,
imagine my surprise when you responded.
Let’s throwback to brass tacks,
do you remember that slap?
Every clap, a heart attack,
but I distinctly remember 
not 
fighting 
back.

I now save your newspaper clippings in the 
library,
the last one will be your
obituary,
and who will go to the
cemetery
when you die in 
January,
but me,
bitch.