What You Get

A hangover drags its limp weight across the afternoon, across my tired eyelids. We write messages and remark how worth the headache, but the harmonies do not sound as good in sobriety, and he deletes the sound byte with a laugh. So few steps to dinner, I take the long walk home after and find their smiling faces at the bar, it is impossible to resist. The soundtrack is comforting as ever, the family of conversation, and only her hair color has changed. I wore canvas sneakers today, because I could, because the snow is gone. The last remaining specks of steam freeze along the asphalt; every street corner is a disaster waiting to happen.

The last hours are too delicious to waste in sleep, isn't it always the way. We survived January, and didn't the calendar turn a new leaf, in spite of ourselves? Last night when I walked home, I heard a bird singing in the empty trees, it was just like those early morning strolls in spring, when you and the bird share that moment, that secret, that only the two of you know what magic lies ahead.

My nights are a little colder, lately, my poetry naive and dated.

But hold my hand, and February will save our lives anew.