My former boss
At the bar
Unfriended me on Facebook
And won’t let me follow her on
Instagram.
.
The last time I talked to her,
She gave me a hug.
.
I’m not sure why,
But her bust has like doubled in size
Since I worked for her six years ago.
.
And now I’m left to think of this video
Of her twirling these flags
In a bathing suit on the beach,
Twisting,
Bending and swaying,
.
With various heavenly
Swatches of copper flesh
Wiggling with inertiatic zeal
Revealing themselves
Scantily or partially, at
Variant times.
.
And now I walk
Down a block downtown
And there’s this dusty feel to
Everything,
.
But the women all seem to have
.
Huger breasts than ever,
Hence, hopefully,
Justifying my nervy quest to
Observe my former boss on social media.
.
I think back to the days of rock concerts,
At the Rum Village Inn, at the Anchor Inn,
And the Wander Inn
(Yes, all these bars are really called “inns”),
.
Of the phenomenon of
Observing music
And really sinking into it,
Like
.
Incurring that phenomenon
Where it feels like you’re travelling spatially,
Listening to gripping music,
And where it hurts a little bit.
.
I think of Wilco
.
And I think of Sharon Van Etten.
.
When I go to this one part of town
I think of Pearl Jam and
I administer my pedestrian facial expression
At any number of punctiliously rendered
Locales around town,
.
All the while,
Carrying what I perceive as
My own sense of meaning,
Inside my head.