The glove compartment isn't accurately named.

Nerds

Those glasses are definitely glasses,
that witch nose holds them up -
thick black frames with freckles to
boot. You ask me which nerdy
TV show I am watching next.

The winter air from the 2nd story
balcony of my apartment lingered.
We both hate this time of year, you
lit another cigarette and sighed. For
all your intricacies, the dress

that you bought from Saint Vinny's
thrift store was more than likely
whiter than snow had ever been,
and your untanned indoor skin
could have only been developed

from hours of watching 70s cult
classics on VHS. I wish I knew about
more indie music to impress you,
or could quote Army of Darkness
with such clarity. You were on a
different level.

These Things in Common

I was sitting cross legged
on my green couch. You threw
your legs with little grace over the
cushions and lay your head in my lap.

I could only think that my belt buckle
was causing your head harm. I focused on
the object of your head, the lead
weight on my thigh
or the blank stare of the television

trying to communicate to me topics
of conversation were the opposite
of my concerns. Which awkward place for
my arm; what piece of you is "PG"?

After it was all said I pushed my lips
against you (hunched over, I felt
the cold sweat on my back)
but nothing was organic, not even
the tea from my mother's care package.

Something About Pink

There is something about pink hair
now that I had spent two years
opening my eyes to the smell
of her scalp. That hair
dye smell. My pillow cases
all have a pink smudge still.

There are pink flowers, and then
there is pink hair. When I saw your
pick hair, I did not think about flowers,
but in reverse it was all I could muster.

You looked so much younger in pink -
at least we were younger, and my opinions
and thoughts of your hair
mattered so much more.

Untitled

The birds cared more about
my poetry than you ever did,
even though I never wrote
many poems about birds.