it’s a long story

is she your security blanket
or your government-issued ankle-bracelet,
or maybe you just love her
and you’re too fucking codependent?

I wrote the first verse
before you showed up tonight,
but when I saw the dust,
I knew you’d left her home.

she makes you drive lame,
like she’s precious cargo
and a bump might break her,
whereas I let you push 96

and in a Volvo too
back when it was just us.
the cop let you off easy
with just a speeding ticket for 90.

and so we stood in the driveway.
tonight I had time to stare,
to remember your face,
but not close enough to memorize

your eyes. More feet between us
than I would have liked,
but I think it was for safety
because our walls didn’t exist tonight.

I joked about being too clumsy
to be a stripper and you laughed.
A genuine laugh, probably because
you know it’s true. And now I’m taken

back to yesterday when J
“taught” me how to play guitar
and I showed him that my old acoustic
makes a pretty good drum too.

And then I remembered,
two years or so ago I wrote
“Learn to play (and sing) Sheridan
on guitar” on a list of random to-dos,

meant to help straighten
my life out and
make some sense of
a broken heart and uncertain future.

Tonight I’m looking up tab
and telling myself tomorrow
I’ll begin to learn Sheridan
and someday I’ll sing it for you.

I think this one could go on
for years because tonight
I ache to count the freckles
that color your yellow cheeks brown.

and every moment of our lives
is colliding with 30 minutes
we spent in my parents’ driveway,
encompassing fifty plus years-

our ages added together because
even our years together would be
seen different thru the other’s eyes,
@ six thirty pm on July 29th 20-16.

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