A picture of her on his back
Laughing as they fall into unforgiving brick
Surrounded by anyone who ever mattered
On the back porch
We were all drinking the cheap beer that recalls at least twenty memories from dusty, rusted oblivion
And the expensive craft kind that I stole from someone's sister or dad or uncle or something

A night spent in overalls
Where everyone's head exploded
In mini vans, swingsets, and white wicker chairs
Anyone who could cry did
The others had already gone numb

A picture of her on his back
Falling gracefully into certain demise
In and out of love as fast as she drank all the whisky

When mothers and brothers and lovers die
We place flowers in their lips and wash their hair with wine
We press our faces up to theirs to make sure we're not looking in a mirror
Or worse, a window