Is there an expiration date stamped on the back of my neck? "Sell by Nov. 1, 2006" "Best if Used By 24" Am I coded for planned obsolescence? The newer, younger, prettier model is sure to have already hit the shelves. She's more interesting, perfect makeup, never fails to say the right thing, do the right thing. Never boring, always attractive, never needs a thing, loves it when you come home drunk, enjoys the smell of cigarettes.
I got vain. I lost weight. I counted the things I ate.
I refused to believe that love dies young. I meant what I said on the dock. But somehow feelings escaped through your skin and were carried away over the water. You fell in love with a golden coast and kissed her every weekend. You came home to the grey midwest, but wrote her love letters with every note in your guitar. I found them on your tongue after late nights spent leaning over the speakeasy bar down the street.
I took your telephone call. You were crackling with distance and the sounds of rapidly rotating tires. "I don't know if I can come back (to you). California is calling me home." My picture in your worn wallet smiles up at you like the face of a stranger as you pull out carelessly crumpled twenty-dollar bills. I will soon be replaced by a new, beautiful platinum credit card. Do you really think she'll love you better?