A poem written for my creative writing class, but also for therapy |
We’ll go out to our usual place – we’ll get drunk and dance and you’ll kiss me like you never said it was over. Leaving, you’ll take my hand as we slide our shoes across the icy parking lot, complaining because the nights are cold now and my car has no heat. We’ll show up at our diner (where they were probably expecting us anyway) – you’ll get your usual and I’ll read the menu like I’ve never seen it before and sandwiched between yellow light and orange vinyl we’ll gossip about all the things that have happened in the six hours since we last really talked. After we’re sick on chicken fingers and coffee I’ll take you home. You’ll invite me in again and we’ll sit on wicker barstools in your basement like we always did before, Motley Crüe so loud we have to yell to hear each other. After a few more beers and a few more cigarettes you’ll say you need to go bed and you’ll ask me what I want to do but to save myself I have to say I’m going home and you’ll walk me through the kitchen to the front door, sliding your arms around me as I clutch handfuls of your shirt and we hang onto each other like we can’t let go but I thought we already did. |