Golden-Haired Boy

I thought I was your Golden-Haired Boy,
But you went and found another and another and
Left me to die on the stable floor
Bloodied by the horse's hooves,
Covered in hay and horseshit,
Desperately calling out, being unheard;
Yet my Princess you remain,
Although I do not know by what right or reason,
Reason having gone long ago.
If my hair is golden still, it matters little;
The veil should fall by dawn.

New Year's Day

At 3 a.m. I ate a bowl of mac and cheese and thought of you
Having New Year's in Pacific Time and
Cried as my sister drunkenly comforted me
Like the Long Island girl she is.
It's okay. It's okay.
I never thought powdered cheese could taste so
Right and so sad.