I was in my college reggae phase,
yet here we are, talking about old malaise
from our respective golden days.
She wore a watch
and watched as I read
the book I found
at the NYC marathon.
Everyone has the heat on
in their cars here,
and I am always on
the sunnyside of the journey.
She reads in the passenger seat,
pretty, despite the cigs
and the inebriated eyes,
but it's been a long life.
She calls me a mix
of her middle school crushes:
Mark Walberg and Pauly Shore,
Mark Walberg and Pauly Shore,
which kinda tracks.
I feel a heartbeat in my feet
and a crush coming on,
but it's bad timing, baby,
because I am dying again.