Astoria, Queens, New York City,
New York State, America
This beauty? For sale.
I honestly don’t know what kind is.
I know sturdy, dinged up, like we all do.
I know the low low price of free or best offer.
It’s kind of fucked, actually.
I’d sell so much of my growing up:
Chicago, college, garbage dump job,
drinking beer. Trying to not get AIDS.
My first assshole, gorgeous
apartment with a balcony.
I wish I had been older. I wasn’t ready
for that kind of life yet. I wanted to be
a skyscraper. I wanted to be in Paris,
the wind ruffling my perfectly coiffed hair.
Those were the good years, for me.
Who am I becoming?
Someone I like? Or just Someone
Who Lives In New York City?
The fact is that I can’t fit in anymore.
Maybe this life-cycle ends here and now.
Maybe the earth needs my energy back.
Wouldn’t that be freaking beautiful?
But maybe someone out there needs
a home, a purpose, a next journey, a partnership.
Offer. Maybe the highest bidder wins.
Source & Method
The source text of the poem is (a craigslist ad that has been taken down.) I used the blackout method and added line breaks to create this poem. There were only a few instances where I had to change a word or tense for flow and understandability.