Remember when I bought that old copy
of Haroun and the Sea of Stories
from a Muslim clerk
at the Super Antique Shoppe?
The poor girl kept looking at me
like it was five more minutes
to twenty credits an hour
or the end of the world.
Of course, she took her chances
with the apocalypse.
Who wouldn't those days?
I'm thinking that, perhaps,
I did the same thing
she did
the day I left you waiting
in the hangar
with your mouth open.
But, in retrospect,
it was really too late for us.
It had gone to shit
too many times,
and the biblical ending
was more romantic
than a thank you blow.
I was selfish,
but I thought it was my turn to be,
and it turned out not one of us
was willing to sacrifice
the extra shuttle fee
for an uncomfortable seat
back to Eros Station.