you who never arrived

you who never arrived at the party in a dress made out of a sacklooking scrap of silk
I don't know what you were doing that you couldn't have just stopped by
with your giant sunglasses and your poker face doing your damnedest to bilk
locals out of their taxi as you and your shopping bags go flying by

I will never again see your eyes in their true light, with dark goo unencrusted
or maybe I wil but by that time all my affection for them will have rusted
I know it's considered unfeminist now to say you look better without makeup
but there you go it's the truth it's what I've become in this ongoing cultural shakeup

you who never arrived at the airport with matching houndstooth luggage
who once stood breathless outside the lawn of the Kappa Alpha flush with chuggage
some days pool and sag around other days like trailers around a sinkhole
the world beyond that event horizon begins to feel unreachable

some days I wonder if some day in spite of all appearances you might arrive
in spindly heels and a haircut or perhaps with a family of five
you whose face I have never seen you who I only imagine
will turn up unexpectedly in a big hat with a Viva Viagem

this place is real and somewhere in the world you are too and in effect
my hope is that someday these two strands of reality will intersect
but until that day we are both of us a little hypothetical
you and me in space and time with our holidays theoretical