It’s Friday Night

and thanks for inviting me, Katie, via drunk textto the bar where undergrads watch the games and drink underage,where tonight there are so many gay guys

and it’s okay because it’s summerand the frat boys have skipped town,where tonight it’s sooooo fun!!!

You know I’d normally throw pants on and join you,but I’m halfway through Something’s Gotta Giveand tonight I’m in love with Diane Keaton,

as I am every time I watch this movie,which I suppose I have to admit is my favorite,perhaps because I’m in love with thinking about myself

as Diane Keaton, once again in love, drinking Bordeauxand eating roast chicken in Paris on my birthday.In any case, I haven’t the energy

for dancing. I don’t want an uncomplicated liaisontonight. Tonight I want something real,something expensive,

someone to hold my hand across a candlelit table —a soft French song I wouldn’t understanduntil after, in bed, when he’d translate by touch.

Katie, this is just another lonely night in Indianaand I’m not going to find something so florid and quietly aliveat some suddenly queer sports bar,

so I will settle, here, on the floor of my cheap apartment,again imagining there’s a man lingering just outside my doorwhile Diane begs to have her shirt cut off.