Mexico

I try not to think of you with her
Bright-named with burnished skin:
Your eyes bluer every day.
I tell myself it's only right that you
Don't mention me anymore
But then I remember August, Mexico
The plans I never told you
And resent you for not knowing.

Yet life goes on over here
I wear a crimson skirt and chain mail
That Frida would approve of
And speak of gin and weekends
Where I din't sleep.
You wander the lands
Promised lands promised to another
Don't worry, bear up, it will keep.