one more trip to the record store (a poem to Postsecret)

One more trip to the record store

"Nothing helps,"
she said, "but
vodka,
weed,
and kissing you."

Her words flew
across the country to
shake me
from my dreaming,

to take me to
that summer
when

I came to the edge of reason,
when I felt that
rush of madness,
that dazed and giddy
freefall

that was loving you.

And then you went,
so now I find myself
with only
weed and vodka,

while that lucky girl
can still count on
kissing you.

But
if I smoke enough,

when I am alone and she is
kissing you,

and if I drink my fill
of Swedish vodka,

and if,
while I
am smoking
and drinking
while she
is kissing you--

if I play enough
ten-cent records and
put that heart on the stereo
one more time

and do not think
too clearly

of your face
and of your smile,

that haze of summer evening on
the lips that she
is kissing,

then I can stand another day
that you don't call,

another day of seeing you or not,
and of wondering if I will,

another day of longer, colder night,

another day that she has
vodka,
weed,
and kissing you.

(from Se Refiere a Nosotros: Poems for You)