I get a job at Security Check, answering phones. They give me a cubicle and a headset.
The air conditioning makes my leg hair grow faster.
I take Spanish translation to fulfill a graduate school language requirement and break up
with Eduardo. He offers to look over my assignments anyway.
Five nights a week, my roommate and I drink until we pass out. We eat too
much pizza and fall asleep in front of the TV on the living room floor.
Some mornings, I don’t shower, just brush my teeth and change my shirt. Keystone
Light leaks from my pores.
I try to talk to him, but he asks when. When will we get back together? Five years?
After soul-searching? There will never be another poem addressed to Eduardo. I promise myself.
My boss pulls a cover sheet off the fax machine. Who’s Emily Green? she asks.
I can’t study Spanish. Te quiero is my grip on the sleeve of his suede jacket.