My office is this train,
Squealing into Pittsburgh, again, and again.
I began my Ph.D.
When she stopped loving me.
We had an affair; we rode the train,
And hid in parks, kissing again, and again.
When I get to work I turn my computer on
To begin my work: the green lawn
Where once we lay
May stir my memory for the better part of a day.
I write poems when the boss is away.
I don’t care if I earn a degree.
I’m a scholar in why she stopped loving me.
Nothing is methodical except as it pertains
To my poetry, as the rest of the world strains.
