SORTING STUFF 1980

A MAN AND WOMAN SORTING ITEMS AT THE END OF A RELATIONSHIP

We sort stuff: records,
books, photos and old letters.
The Country and Western
records are yours, I said.

The darn opera and classical
s**t is yours Netanya said.
We each stack our records
in piles. Who reads this heavy

stuff? she said Dos-toy-eve-sky?
what the feck is this about?
Russian guy; wrote novels,
I said. She puts her books to

one side, light stuff, romance,
sagas. Remember this photo?
She asked. She and I at
some party. She's wearing

the red dress. I am in some
check suit. You look quite hot
here, I said. And I don't now?
She asked. Not so much. Well,

you're no hot shot anymore
now either. We sorted more photos.
Who was she? She asked. Just
some dame. What dame? She

was that party. She looks too friendly.
She was a friend of the host, I said.
What's she got her hand around
your waist for? I never noticed.

Liar, Johnny, you knew. I can see
by your face. Amnesia gets us all.
It isn't funny, she said. We sort
more photos and place them in piles:

hers and mine. Letters next. She
reads through letters from me.
You wrote here lots of love, she said.
What happened? It was true when

I wrote, I said. What happened to us,
Johnny? She said. There were more
letters, some in envelopes. I saw
in my mind's eye the dame who had

her arms around my waist, she liked opera
and classical stuff and liked Russian art.
What happened to us, Netanya? I said,
what happened? and what tore us apart?