Blue Porsche

Blue Porsche


Over here it’s always summer.
Men dry their bodies by the pool.
A boat passes. An American flag
floats across the horizon. 
Someone talks about buying a gun
and I stare at my phone
reading texts from men 
who have little to say. 
I’m not sure what love is 
but I know it’s not this. 
I don’t need another drink 
but past noon my body
burns in the heat. One day 
it will burn off completely. 
One day this place will flood
and nothing will save us.
No matter how righteous we’ve been.
No matter whose dick is up 
for the next great American jerk off. 
I’m just a little brain dead, you know. 
Hungover under an umbrella,
I’m parched. Starved. 
Obviously glistening. 
Pleading the fifth because I’m guilty
of everything. Saying okay thanks
when a man in a blue Porsche 
takes me home.