—I  WAS CAUGHT UP IN THE BLUE SKIES, LOOKING UP AT YOUR BROWN EYES, MADE ME REALIZE THEY DON’T REALLY MAKE ‘EM QUITE LIKE YOU

 

 

Extradition

 

If the moon

has an extradition 

treaty with earth, 

I should be there by 

just-past-coffee time. 

Can you stall, please? 

Time is in flux here, 

if time really exists at all. 

But if it does—time—

— then I’ve got a 

hand-printed poem 

in my right front 

shirt pocket. 

It’s messy as hell, 

and embarrassing to boot,

yet every word is 

entirely true, 

and meant only for you.