Seduced by a sultry saxophone
at half past seven, before the sun gets up,
I belt it out like a song could break this spell,
long streak of untouchability that leaves
me shriveling, withered like a leaf,
tattered, torn.

Stewart says tonight’s the night. Hear him
whisper, “It’ll be alright, ‘cause I’m in love
with you. Ain’t nobody gonna stop us now.”
Reality check: Rod’s on the radio,
and somebody please, please, stop us if
it comes to that.

Slapped like a newborn so excited
she forgets to breathe, I slow to a crawl, then
stop, seeing red at intersection of Point
Nowhere and Forever Lane. Tears flow;
traffic doesn’t. Why am I bothered,
battered, born?

Back home to sleep it off alone, or
perhaps to dream the tune to life, I picture
you, or some man made for me and imagine
that we could be. Come, come quick, before this girl’s
too brittle or too broken, before
this night’s too old.