I lost the pawn ticket for my mind.
Can't figure out which pants I left it in.
Must be with the balls to tell you to give it back,
dammit.
Walked into the store,
the new girl at the desk
looked up expectantly,
insistently,
but I couldn't produce.
Didn't have what you left with.
Maybe I washed it,
made it flow
out of my hands
out of sight,
my mind.
Pawned it for your long, blond presence.
To buy you, rent you
for a little while,
til you loved her again
and dry-fucked him
and forgot about me,
clutching the little ticket close,
clinging to a few words
I couldn't cash in.
But I could break in one night
after the shop has gone dark
and the new girl has
gone home
lift the cover
and limp
away.
