It's two a.m.
and a distant siren
bellows through the flurries.

The bars just closed.

I sit, wrapped in the hoodie
you gave me years ago
wondering if the black ice
caught you by surprise
while his hand
was up your skirt
prepping his night cap.

Did you find another
brown hair, green eyed
*******
who reminds you
of that faded picture
stashed in your sock drawer?

I hope it wasn't you
the siren sings for tonight.

Happy Birthday.