One a.m.

I wish I lived on the upper west! he explained, when I for the nth time assumed that's where he lived. Something about him just screams UWS. That's what I want; married, having kids. They all have kids up there, it's made for it. The night ends early; I walk alone down Morton Street and am not tired.

I forget that people here, too, want that life. That millions of them are living it. They've found their one, against all the odds of dating in the city, and they want to settle down. They just want to do it here. No weird artsy job, no mad youthful endeavors in the LES night. They want their nine-to-five, their family, their life in order.

One a.m. and my book is spiraling out of control. Twists and turns, I am not in control. But I see clearly how my subconscious weaves its tales into the word processor. My subconscious could not care less about the upper west side. And at the end of the night, that's the company I prefer to take to home.

On Domesticity

It occurred to me recently
that I am very close
to being but a year and a half from 30.
And though I realize that 30
is the new 20
it still scared the shit out of me.

Somewhere along the line
I promised myself
I'd have my life in order by then.
You know,
grown up,
gotten a job,
gotten back on the right track.

Tonight I contemplated the baby
growing in my dear friend's belly
and the ridiculous commercials
of homemaker women
whose lives seem composed
of lunch boxes
and air fresheners
and minivans

and I know I imagine that life
to be
so much simpler than it possibly could,
but God
some nights
it's awful tempting,
nonetheless.