When she finally walks away from you
a small part of you, romantic but trifling, enjoys it.
You do know you’re an ass man and
she’s giving you one more look.

A small part of you, romantic but trifling, enjoys it,
the silent phone, the long, unplanned weekend.
She’s giving you one more look
at all the time you now have for writing.

The silent phone, the long unplanned weekend…
try not to think of her, think instead of
all the time you now have for writing
poems that will live forever.

Try not to think of her, think instead of
those classic forms: the sestina, the villanelle, the pantoum,
poems that will live forever
because sometimes style counts more than content.

Those classic forms: the sestina, the villanelle, the pantoum,
most of my favorite poets didn’t write them
because sometimes style counts more than content
and they knew better.

Most of my favorite poets didn’t write them
poems where everything is all neat and pretty—
and they knew better.
Good writing is often that vulgar lyricism you don’t want to read, you need to.

Poems where everything is all neat and pretty
don’t mean a damn thing when you’re heartbroken.
Good writing is often that vulgar lyricism you don’t want to read, you need to,
that just makes a lonely heart feel even more fucked up.

Don’t mean a damn thing when you’re heartbroken,
being a poet.  It don’t help,
that just makes a lonely heart feel even more fucked up
how you can write it down and spread it around.

Being a poet, it don’t help
once you’ve suggested she take her ass on out the door and she does.
How you can write it down and spread it around—
the gift and the curse is the expression, you believe.

Once you’ve suggested she take her ass on out the door and she does
you’re not sure whether to feel satisfaction or melancholy.
(The gift and the curse is the expression.)  You believe
you will miss her more than your poetics can capture.

You’re not sure whether to feel satisfaction or melancholy.
You do know you’re an ass man and
you will miss her more than your poetics can capture
when she finally walks away from you.

John Rodriguez is a Harlem-born, Bronx raised Puerto Rock who sends a shout out to any folks reading these notes who grew up on Gun Hill Road.

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