The Keys to the Car
Listen,
broken little century
driving around in your Karmann Ghia
like all the rock and rollers,
the queer disciples who
helped me with my homework
in 1967
I am not done with you
High as a gilded lily,
slinking around with your bedroom eyes
fixed on Mexico as the
best place to die
I have the evidence, now,
that you were possessed of
too much hope
Your clothes were too beautiful;
you were, yourself, too beautiful
Gay blades indeed: that's a
gut punch, little darling
Little age of pain
So what were you doing,
drinking the last hours away
in a vicious bar, wearing your
summer suit and a panama hat?
Setting sail already, hmm?
With your suitcase
buying a ticket on a passing cloud
Were you just
waiting to see what would happen?
Well, this is what happened
At least you could have left me
the keys to the car