For the Eighties
Beyond the tired salad, the aching radish,
there was some meat left that we couldn’t finish.
And the waiter–none of us–had bags
there was some meat left that we couldn’t finish.
And the waiter–none of us–had bags
so you wrapped it in tin foil and took it home.
Heart. Albumen.
Made a mess of your pocket, I’ll bet.
Later, I said that I wanted you to love me
like you used to and you said, how?
and I said, remember?
the way we went over the Rubik’s, a craze.