This is a Thought

If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator

for eternity,

I wonder if you would sit beside me  

reading Wallace Stevens.

If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies

for eternity,

I wonder if you would smuggle me some

David Bowie tracks.

If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts

for eternity,

I wonder if you would google gourmet

recipes for me.

If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild

for eternity,

I wonder if you would build a nightclub

next to my cabin.

If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud

for eternity,

I wonder if you would be happily

married in Norway.

A Birthday

But bartenders don't know how to make a sidecar anymore.
Is this what I'm supposed
to do now?
Identities, plastic summaries, explored at the door.
Those little clubs without rules, more like
third grade
than we care to admit.
Smooth, fruity lightning sprints through veins, echoes in eye sockets. All pulses.
Sex and sports and
Smirnoff, culture in cocktails accessible
now.
A bucket of beer and growing older never made us feel so young, so innocent.