On a Street

Music filters out the café door

where I sit with my friend,

cigarettes and coffee in our hands,

commenting on the dress of

passersby, who could care less

about our existence.


Though she wants to be great,

she fears doing something not ordinary.

Once, she was great at soccer

but it wasn’t cool to play anymore,

so she started to play the violin,

which I don’t think is all that cool.


Sleeps with me cold nights

when she “can’t handle it anymore.”

Is always gone before the morning light

can break through my window.


Calls at noon and brings me lunch

because she knows I “always make dinner.”

She brings a bottle of wine

and magazine clippings with my name

to show how great I am,

even though we both know

she is a better person than me.

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