A good way to fall in love

is to turn off the headlights

and drive very fast down dark roads.

Another way to fall in love

is to say they are only mints

and swallow them with a strong drink.

Then it is autumn in the body.

Your hands are cold.

Then it is winter and we are still at war.

The gold-haired girl is singing into your ear

about how we live in a beautiful country.

Snow sifts from the clouds

into your drink. It doesn't matter about the war.

A good way to fall in love

is to close up the garage and turn the engine on,

then down you'll fall through lovely mists

as a body might fall early one morning

from a high window into love. Love,

the broken glass. Love, the scissors

and the water basin. A good way to fall

is with a rope to catch you.

A good way is with something to drink

to help you march forward.

The gold-haired girl says, Don't worry

about the armies, says, We live in a time

full of love. You're thinking about this too much.

Slow down. Nothing bad will happen.

I chose this poem mainly for the reason that I could not stop thinking about it. It took me on quite the journey -- at first, thinking about how much I enjoy driving on dark roads; horrified and annoyed at my own cluelessness after the phrase "close up the garage and turn the engine on", then finally a sort of challenged, begrudgingly respectful comprehension. I hated this poem at first because I thought it was glorifying suicide. Then I realized it was condemning killing. I have my problems with it - the language, considering the subject matter, does steer alarmingly rosy at times, and I'm not a fan of how the woman in the poem is portrayed as this vapid bimbo, but I value the poem's political perspective, and I struggled with it more than another poem that I've read so far. For that reason, I felt it was worthy of inclusion.