I lost it
in the worst way,
in the most impersonal,
detached,
cold and lonely
kind of way,
sleazy and cheap
on the orange shag carpet
of his family’s souvenir shop
in the land of Sappho.

I prayed to St. Anthony
to find it,
but when I did
it wasn’t mine anymore.
That hairy physics major
took it back to London,
offered it to my best friend
in exchange for her
moaning
complicity.

There was a special
on gullible foreign girls,
two for the price of one,
in the summer of 1990.

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