—

It’s dark; right after half past seven,
each article of leather on your body
seems to copy the odour of shoes.
Bad news is that her curfew is nine,
so you draw a line across your palm
and gesture a call with your fingers,
it lingers but she pretends to pick up;
you make a loud enough beep and say
‘please hold the line, someone will
be right with you’ pushing forward your
palm,
and her calm demeanour disappears;
she cries but by tonight in a couple years,
when it’s half past night and her
curfew has been lifted;
you’re there gesturing your phone call,
but no one answers,
you push forward your palm,
to an empty space.
The same night; a few years later,
the silence seems somewhat greater;
you’re there ...but she isn’t.
It’s entirely different but you’re
in the same place, in the same spot,
and you cried; a lot.