you told me you play the instrument 
that makes the people dance

what you loved about me was 
the delicious way I move (hey, your words)

you were always asking me to choke you
and stay the night

now by email you write that
you are not going to make this any easier for me

but I get to decide where this poem goes
how it moves, what it makes

it goes to where we met in the contra line
you grinned when I asked if you like flourishes

now I find sweatshirts of mine with sleeves folded up
to where your wrists would go and I quickly unroll them

now there’s nothing worse than listening to your band
picturing the way your head pigeons when you play

the pink knobs on your bass
oh   your   pink   knobs

not being with you is bad
it’s badder than being with you was  

someone please
tell me what a body means

Alex Baskin is a graduate of Harvard Divinity School. His poetry appears in Leaping Clear, Lucky Jefferson, and Rock & Sling. He has an essay forthcoming in an anthology on spiritual care (North Atlantic Books, 2023.) Originally from New Jersey, he lives in Massachusetts.