Bob Dylan comes on
at the Chili's
and I sigh
with my eyes.
This is the unhappy hour
where dentists go
to pretend to be doctors,
and I just try to disappear in two-for-ones.
I wear button-down shirts
and only order appetizers,
because cars drive me
more than I drive them.
Writing and deleting
most of this poem
is part of everything,
I don't know.
I'll see you at the Wal-Mart,
just as New Jersey,
but not as romantic,
don't forget, don't die.