aphorysm

Wippett Lounge
08/04/2003

At the tavern on a Friday night
(if you can remember the tavern,
or the night for that matter?)
Dancing with your shoes off, amongst
the college kids, girating and groping
each other as if it were they, who
had discovered darkness and rhythm.
Your middle aged eyes closed a moment,
expanding a college memory of your own,
running naked on the beach, or
breathing in your first kiss long ago.

Beer sloshing in your brain, sweat,
smoke, muscles, breasts, ashtrays,
and you lean back in your chair,
wake up in your own bed, alone,
call your best friend at noon
on the Saturday to find out why
your pockets are empty and your car
is parked safe but sideways
in the driveway after that Friday night.