You’re No Good

Red, red
wine—drug of choice
till choosing had nothing
to do with it, empties clanking
below

his feet.
Which version do
you sing in the shower
when you want to forget the year
engraved

above
your left hip? Neil?
Paul? The tattoo exposed
your expiration date to him
and all

the young
barflies. The day
you left New York for good
(July 27, 1990)
or bad.

One thought on “You’re No Good

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