Autumn #35

Thirty-five years since

that three-week fling

Knoxville, Tennessee

Summer 1987

The man I

thought I loved

loved another

so he suggested

you instead

Our first date

I arranged for

a friend to

stop by the bar

to rescue me

Unnecessary

We had everything

and nothing in common

Bound by 

astrology and hormones

You taught me

what a food coop was

and how to 

slice garlic

properly

You yelled at me

when I smeared

mayonnaise 

on the bread bag

and meticulously 

scrubbed your dick

after each

session

obsessed over

The Iran-Contra Affair

and hooked me on

The New York Times

When you moved

far away

I did not

quit you easily

driving hours to see you

your favorite pizza in tow

greeted once

(me, vegetarian)

with the fresh kilt pelt

of a doe-eyed doe

flung casually across

the porch rail

of your

tilted little

A-frame in the woods

You served me

shots of something

made from grape skins

in the tiny beakers of your trade

It burned on the way down

and made that 

poorly chosen

striped wallpaper

even worse

I cannot

sauté an onion

without hearing you

tell me

that time I asked

why you dumped me

(your southern drawl

rendering my name

into something sounding sci-fi)

Spock?

I have

thrown back

a lot

of keepers.