"I love you in Albuquerque" - Telegram from Mike Todd to Gypsy Rose Lee
"I love you in Albuquerque; I hate you in Santa Fe."
The stick shift vibrates into me this rhythm;
Test patterns of asphalt keep me awake tonight.
Three years and two babies later, I’m still chasing after you,
Driving through the New Mexico darkness,
Searching for some pattern to your insanity.
I’m destined to be your truck flap girl,
Always affixed to your ass, protecting the rest of the world from the
shit you kick up.
In the calm light of Albuquerque, its suburban nightlife
And International House of Pancakes, I was enough for you.
You weren’t settled by any means: you took the interstate every chance
you could,
Hopping on Route 66 to go to the grocery store.
The road mesmerized you. You never stopped loving me,
You just loved the feel of concrete under your foot
As you speed 65 mph away from responsibilities.
Interstate 25 took you to Santa Fe and there you despised me.
You fell in love with a turquoise-clad, Navajo-skirt wearing woman
Who prayed to Kachina dolls daily at 3 a.m.
Eventually her love of Yanni drove you to the arms of a streetside
vendor
Named Juanita. I can picture you standing on her blanket
In the shadows of the museums, wiping your brow with the back of your
hand.
You’d be staring out, always away from women, towards Taos this time.
I tracked you down in a Kentucky Fried Chicken in Los Alamos.
You were leading a church group of thirteen year old girls through
The Museum of Atomic Energy. I demanded child support.
You demanded a restraining order. That night we made love
In the parking lot of the Safeway and I saw you through the eyes
Of those little eager girls, bored with the material and excited by
the idea of you,
Aroused by the idea of a tryst in your navy Ford Tempo.
I know you’re in Truth or Consequences now, probably eating
Chicken fried steak at some five-calendar diner with a hot-plate woman.
You’ll drive her in the dented Tempo past an interstate exit one day
And you’ll drop her off at the nearest gas station. Then you’ll call
me
And I’ll come running. I can’t help but think that for running away,
You sure never get very far. This state’s darkness has trapped you.
Remember how we couldn’t see that night outside Red River?
That’s our love: all encompassing, frightening, and destructive.