pumping gas

I was thinking about Magen today while I was filling my gas tank.
How can I think of tender memories in a moment like this?

I remember this note she wrote me,
"Hey baby, anytime you feel sad just read this and think of me!"

And then I went to this memory where she was running up to me
in the Santana High School hallway. She had this dirty wheat blonde hair
that darkened in the autumn. Her eyes were brown and delicate, not like blue eyes, more sincere and honest. Pink shoes that looked like she was kicking them in mud. Faded blue jeanes that ripped at the bottom, perfectly curving to her plump behind. She wore her mom's old gray kung-fu sweater, ripped at the neck, and that was always to big for her. And ocassionally, she wore her fashionable horse riding boots to school. I hated her style, but it was her imperfections that made her beautiful. Her love was obsessive, but it was real, the most real I've ever felt.

I smiled a little, what a bunch of crap.

Shit,
25.96$ for 9 gallons of gas!
I should of payed attention.

It's been 2 years Ivan, sometimes you need to forget about it all.
forget it happened.
dump it in the shitter like she did,
but don't forget to wipe.

she is seeing a guy with a three letter name.
he must be amazing,
but that's what she thought of me,
the last guy,
and maybe the next guy after that.

I'm sure he thinks of her
holds a picture
and stares longingly
at those obsessive
brown eyes.
same eyes I warmed
in her back yard
listening to the marching band.
same eyes I looked into when we heard
Hero by Enrique Iglesais at the high school dance,
same song I heard at a Carl's Jr in Anaheim
when I was with friends at Disneyland.
I bawled like a 10 year old in the
bathroom for
20 minutes before I came out and told them
I was taking a shit
so piercing
it glazed my eyes.
Same song I heard at a Payless when I was
shopping for white band concert shoes
-for a Jazz band I joined
to keep my mind off
those same brown eyes
that he looks at now.

Those eyes were cursed by the Gods. Medusa has a kinder glaze.

he'll have to be a brave damned warrior to live through that one
no boot camp can prepare him for
the remorseless
-that can tear you up inside
and drive you to insanity

yet the poor son of a bitch is burning in Iraq
while she's at home
shopping for shoes
and living for all
that American bullshit
we're brainwashed to appreciate.

I crack a smile into a grin.

I screw the cap back on.
I stare at the receipt,

the price just went up 3 dollars from last week.

I have less and less things to worry about
without a woman
in my life.