poem for xtine’s wedding

you said you were going to thailand 
to clear your head 
to practice braiding hair 
on thai hookers 

we were at the aztec ruins 
looking for an ATM 

old women 
sold mass-produced mugs 
commemorating virgin sacrifice 

i asked: is this stuff rly made by indigenous people 
& you said yes,
but not in the way you think 

we were in manhattan 
at some played out institution 
basically this place used to be a regular bar 
until a bunch of godless sluts 
who wanted to be models 
started coming here 

back in my day, we just called this upward mobility 
monogamy, hypergamy 
you told me i was clout chasing 
and to go stand in the corner 
with the cactus and the pile of trash   

no higher social strata to ascend to 
no virgins in site to be sacrificed

you regarded me like 
i was a thai hooker 
and you were some kind of congressman 
on holiday 
in southeast asia 
to clear his head 

poem for david berman’s birthday 

i don’t think there will be booze
for sale, the style writer says, 
because it’s a synagogue

during the memorial 
i put my sweatshirt on out of boredom 

i touch your shoe 
you put your hands away  

i heard jews get to skip the line 
i heard non-functioning alcoholics 
are not permitted to take part in the communion 

but it is special just to see 
the famous style writer 
in her ill-fitting sports-coat 
the one who told me 
because it’s a synagogue

every time i attend a funeral i think: 
this will never happen to me 

& then the sound of normal applause