Cape Cod

The worst boyfriend I ever had
dumped me
in a sad little
beachside bar
at 2:30am
on the fourth
of July

before that
he drew funny little pictures
on my palms

and let me
cut his hair
with my keychain scissors
one afternoon picnic

and I remember
in particular
the feel of the powdery
and nearly purple
sand I rubbed
between my feet
leaning back
with my elbows up
on old driftwood
his tongue so
warm and sweet
in my mouth

and then of course the
stick of his leaving steps
on the beer-tacky
concrete floor

and from the door
his shape
against one last firework

before anything was complicated
before anything was lost

before worst was

times like these.