I like to talk about
my broken edge the way
every regretful mouth
still likes to form
rotten words
it once said with glee;
I like to talk about
the old days as if I was
some pioneer fighting off
cholera when in fact
I sniffled far more
than almost died;
I like to nod my head
to songs I don’t remember well
and pretend to anyone watching
that every note is a past epiphany
although I was not present
the first time they were sanctified;
I like to claim what I never was
but only for public consumption;
I like to play the nostalgia game
but only when it wins me what
I didn’t have back when; I like
my broken edge the most,
though you can’t break an edge
that was never there.
