Mickey

Mickey

In the karaoke bar a dealer whispers
a good price. He’ll do some first

so I know it’s safe. I Could Never
Be Your Woman rises 

 in the monitor: So much
for all your highbrow Marxist ways. 

 Breath moves through the world
 and the microphone 

I’m handed. No thanks.
 He puts his number in my phone 

anyways. Dreams. Says
the name’s under Mickey.  Don’t Start Now. 

Tyrone. Crazy. After midnight
someone asks about that number but you 

are my only Mickey. Here are some
 pictures of us at the dive 

around the corner
four years past. It’s three 

you’re gone.  I’m smashed. The dealer left
 no number, only opened 

an app to pay himself
for nothing. Lucky Star. 

Before they found you
in the playground 

I don’t think you thought you’d appear
in my poem but here you are 

just in time. The drinks are coming, Mickey.
The next song’s mine.

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