New Brunswick
Previously Published in The Verse Marauder

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New Brunswick: The Poems I Won't Show Him

                                                                                                  

I won't let him read about

some guy he's never met

snoring on the side of me with his hand

tucked up my shirt.

I won't I won't tell him about the time

one of them thought I was his mother

and I slept on the couch in fits

until poetry class

and the anonymous escape

of a state university,

coffee cups and gum wrappers

littering the sidewalks

at eight in the morning

on the way to Scott Hall

or Van Heusen.

 

I won't tell him

why I get nervous before

any kind of mini, pot smoking,

couch lounging reunion

because then he won't want to be friends

with those who have seen me naked

but don't want to anymore.

It is for the good of us, he tells me.

It is best for me not to show him these pieces,

with the past heartbreaks

and kicked in car doors

and screaming, drunk fights in the puddles

of Hamilton Street outside of the bar,

these pieces of me

typed on pieces of paper

years after the blacked out pieces of me

came to and life was all about color again,

because he is aware of the pieces

but he doesn't have to eat them.