The shadow leans to the left a little, bald head sharp nose cheater specs horns, the light to the right just a smidge in my peripheral vision— shine and sight in that order. The street whispers and roars, donuts smoked in cul-de-sacs echoing in their screeching idiocy while the strays and packs prowl and make passes. Trial run feints to shake out the fight or flight. Eyes watching from behind blinders unwittingly exposing their minds to this still, lit figure. I smoke and hold my post, train wail and fireworks sounding all around. Something to offer up and onwards, something to send back. Applause at the end of an old recording. A reminder to all the wolves how dogs wound up like that, the threshold between meat and leash.
I speak to you like the words that you’ve heard. I speak to you like I didn’t know the difference. I start talking to the air and the empty. I start talking to the windows and the mirrors. All these ghosts and forgotten old acquaintances. There’s my voice and it’s saying something. There’s my voice like it had a say speaking to you like you were more than leftover words, once was and never weres. The door in the dark down the stairs.
It’s Saturday and somebody’s revel. It’s Saturday and somebody has to make sure it shows. Close up it’s crickets, but around every corner it’s some different kind of show. There’s always all those other conversations and good times that get along just fine without you. There’s always all those true blue sweethearts doing better now that you’ve gone. Now it’s just you and the night and the ragged edge. You worked the words until they were working you. The comfort all but worn clean away, clutched like the bones holding themselves into abstraction. The raincheck left, a missing tooth, our day will come somewhere playing softly. You sing along, your whole heart for a story you know is not for you. That’s what people do, so they say.
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