the first time we had sex 
you put Grease on in the background.
i tried to pull the movie up to write
this poem, but you have to pay 2.99
& i don't think it's worth that much.
half the things on Netflix
are there just to use as background noise.
last semester i'd leave on Anthony Bourdain 
& pretend he was my father. i'd be there, standing
in front of the microwave while he sat 
at my desk opening a bottle of beer. 
we'd end up in Copenhagen.
4 months later i gave another guy 
the password to my (my parent's) Netflix account 
because i felt bad for not wanting to go on
a second date with him. he watches 
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
which i never thought was funny even
when i tried to. 
i only remember the first few minutes 
of Grease
with the ridiculous ocean fades in & out.
it reminds me of when this girl
i was friends with in middle school told
everyone she had sex with a boy on a beach
in Jamaica. back then i thought that was gross. 
the next summer at the beach in
Virginia i tried to flirt with a boy
on a skim board & ended up just sitting
in the sand & letting the waves smack
some sense into me. 
i thought maybe i was a lesbian because
i kept thinking of making out with that girl. 
you told me you liked John Travolta
with his black slicked back hair.
i don't want to unpack the irony of
two men fucking to Summer Nights
on a evening night in November. i do 
want to say that i don't
like Danny (John Travolta) or any boy who
wears a black t-shirt & thinks he's hot shit.
i remember wanting to shut it off
but you were kissing me & i was
trying to figure out if i liked it. 
i feel bad for Sandy (the blonde)
because i get like her sometimes.
get so wrapped up in the idea
of a person that i start to try to be
what they're looking for. i'm trying
to get better with that. i think
you wanted me to be a girl. 
i know i wanted you because i 
like boys with slicked back black hair
& girls with pink ascots. this is my
poem i can contradict myself. 
you were good at kissing. in that
opening scene i remember Sandy saying 
(before an obnoxious heterosexual romp)
i've had the best summer of my life & now i 
have to go away--it isn't fair
it isn't fair. the changes aren't fair.
i guess what really kills me is when
she asks is this the end?
& of course he tells her it's not.
i feel like that every time i start
to have feelings for someone. i'm standing
on a beach saying is this the end?
is this the end? i don't know 
why i wrote this poem to you but
i wanted you to know that you're better
than that Danny guy but not much better. 
Anthony Bordain, is this the end then
for the both of us? 
the microwave bleeps & he's in Sicily
& i know now that he's not my father
because dad doesn't drink wine. 
there isn't a sunset to hot-rod ride off into.
i don't have a black leather outfit.
this is, in fact, the end.
i'll touch your hair. i changed my
Netflix password so that guy couldn't use it
anymore. there's a girl somewhere 
kissing someone on a beach.