When you told me you had gotten married,
I thought about the last thylacine.
Isn't that just like me?
You, who once knew me so well,
Know it is.
In eight years, a lot of things change.
There are always more dingoes,
More outlet malls, all the same.
Normalcy eludes me--
Me, with the stripes on my back.
Maybe I saw things that were not there,
Like desire in return,
Or other thylacines.
Maybe I only embarrassed you,
But I always believed you rarer
Than you ever turned out to be.
So, when you told me you had gotten married,
I thought, of course...
Of course you did;
And if, in time, I cried, it was not for you,
But for the last thylacine.