December
and anyone in the
woods could see the five
idiots on the back deck.

wrapped in blankets
and circled up like
Indians who drink cranberry
Canada Dry ginger ale.

Saturday afternoon
empty house
i wish i felt
different.

sunshine flickering
through the steam between
my fingers and over the
furry blanket.

i've always liked looking
out the back windshield
with swollen eyes at
what i'm leaving behind.

home again and
nothing is different
it's just i've
gotten worse.

and i'm crying
when it hits me
i'm finally
alone.

but i have a
blanket to wrap
myself up in
so everything's fine.