“Come on baby, it’s ok.”
Strands of my love's brown hair catch on the cloth seats
of my car as her head bobs limp. The seat-belt
comes off easily enough, allowing a good angle
to pick her up and set her upright 

against the car door.  Her breath
smells like *****.  Or is it whiskey?

My palms slip over the sweat on her
legs and the back of her blouse
as I try to pick her up.  Once there, her body
slides down my arms and bounces
against my chest, wild and insecure.  
The front door of her house creaks open.  

Light peers out over the shoulder
of her mom's silhouette onto
the driveway. She's shaking her head.  
Her hand half-covers
heavy, closed eyes.  At least she can
stay at the door; I'm carrying
my love myself this time.