AN OLD STORY

It’s hard being in love

with fireflies. I have to do

all the pots and pans.

When asked to parties

they always wear the same

color dress. I work days,

they punch in at dusk.

With the radio and a beer

I sit up doing bills,

jealous of men who’ve fallen

for the homebody stars.

When things are bad

they shake their asses

all over town, when good

my lips glow.

Note: This poem is reprinted from Insomnia Diary (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2004).