A Tool for My Envy
This morning I danced
on the dirty clothes
of yesterday.
As if to stamp out
the vision of her eyes.
As if to stamp out
the sound of her laugh.
She was a tattered girl,
long in the legs
inked like newspaper.
Time was all together stilled
by the way she moved.
as though her presence
was an accident.
I lingered on her display
for it felt like an event.
A future story for the grandchildren
as you sit sipping cider
in your recliner.
It quickly went
from 10 PM to 2 AM.
and the music faded
into afterbar voices.
And I swear,
the lights came on
and she disappeared.
Just a ghost for my amusement.
A spirited tool for my envy.
At home,
sleep came suddenly.
The alcohol was tucking itself in.
and now morning
is where I dwell.
Somber,
Mystified,
Haunted.
