less than impressive

what do you know? (me?)

could you speak plainly, straight up, shooter

but this stirs up so much, history

is our deep d[anger]. I miss

the compainionship, the very idea –

would you speak up or will it always be I?

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eye contact

sudden, unconventional family waiting for the bus

dripping rain on our luggages, 1am Chicago time. The pilot Matt (or was it Mack?)

says this is the first time he’s seen O’Hare like this. The woman in the red jacket agrees

and hugs her purse close. When the Country Inn shuttle pulls up, we rush

squeezing into seats, holding each other’s luggage and making room for standing.

Matt is the last one on. We bounce down the highway laughing, making jokes about

spring break and beer runs. “I need a drink!” people keep yelling as we pass

shady convenience stores. LIQUOR. BEER. CIGARETTES.

For these twenty minutes, we become best friends. I say something

and everyone laughs. The guy next to me makes a comeback. (Do they know

this is my only dream?) We pull up to the hotel’s automatic doors.

The round Texan man with a barbecue drawl lets me out first.

the bit of you that I took

when our skulls collided

in the dark, too fast

both so desperately clumsy

happily awkward, but still

I saw your eye sockets hollow,

your zygomatic processes pronounced

over your stupid beard.

Time always got away from us, didn’t it?

I lost a contented five and a half hours, and left

always right. (stairsteps) You won everything

but me, I lost the peace of you.