Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Pome for a heartbroken Montrealaise, March '08

if only it (fate,
i guess) hadn't pulled us a
part on a wintry
morning street with your
six friends and perfect
make up i just
needed to tell you about
the things you knew you
understood but didn't want to
tell me you
didn't know me how
could you you had nothing to
say you had nothing to do
with it but to
get on board i was
quiet in the shadow of the
Christ-like sunrise
of the yellow tile
mosiac at Place St. Henri

it wasn't the right moment yet you were
moving in the heat of it the
slow arrival at rosemount of the
orange line metro it was
the kind of
morning after the
kind of night where i had
smoked cigarettes and felt
half pie
eyed and i
wanted to tell you this it
wasn't romantic it was
stupid and awkward and
i envied the boyfriend of the
stranger in the red
coat with her beautiful
way of moving away like the
way you have of
away forever just to
spite us all like a
star that
disappears before you can
wish on it and i
wish you'd gone away long
ago but maybe you do too
comme une etoile
filante and my
tired eyes
missed you before we got to
champs de mars and the
sky grew light and the
sun fought through to
dit que
lis mais t'
belle quand

sincerement, un etranger,
orange line metro, 06h18.

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