On Turning 32

I’m at least as powerful as two sixteen
year old girls and nearly as pretty as one of them.

So what if July only comes once a year
and lasts too long?

So what if she used to be a dancer and now
polishes brass for the Polish police?

*

I’m half as smart as the dumpy guy
with mussy hair and three indie records.
He’s married, but I have more heart.

I’m tired of smelling like salt, sick
of being fat-soluble. The strangest things
collect in the bottom of the tub.

*

I’m a B-list everything but at least I look good
from a certain angle. No, not that one.

My heart fell off my polo shirt some time back,
Along with the alligator.

I can spare a lower intestine, though. Return
Your cross-continental phone call?

There’s some shit even this broken man
won’t wade through.

*

The one who shares my day, who lent
me a slim volume—she’s pretty,
but so are the stars.

That must be the point.
I don’t look up enough.
She has the kindest face.