Fizzle
Colored streaks of wax
are sliding down the glass.
I ask for you to pass
another beer,
but it’s so loud -
that crashing water sound -
so I turn around
and ask again to make sure you hear.
You were listening, you said,
but all this noise is fucking up your head.
It’s beautiful
and makes it hard to think.
And that’s why we’ve come:
to turn our brains off and be dumb.
Listen to the engine hum
and drink.
Later on I’ll drive you back
to the place your bags are packed.
You’ll almost want to ask me,
but you won’t.
The both of us will be
acting cool and quietly,
trying hard to look relieved
that this is done.
But for now it’s only
you, the road, and me,
the street lamps reflecting
on the newly-clean hood.
Tomorrow is never,
though it’s also forever.
Tonight’s the perfect ending
to something that couldn’t.
