on a plastic bench
from left to right
there’s him and you, then me
his head aches
because of too much liquor
it’s a fault of self control
his pulsing temples
heavy eyelids
your feet ache
you danced too much
you always dance too much
with the wrong shoes on
toes crushing each other
my face hurts
you said I smiled too much
at strangers whose names I don’t remember
strangers at the party
on the street
on this train
the electric hum sings us to sleep
gently gently
feel the rock of the car
softly softly
we’re babies in a metal bassinette
and like a mother kisses her baby
I want to kiss you
on your forehead
and hold your hand
rest that sleepy head on my shoulder
I’ll take you home
and tuck you in
leave water by your bedside
I think he wants to kiss me
not like a mother and a baby
not like a friend
but with soft lips
and warm togues
hand in hair
I’d let him kiss me
but not now
it’s our stop and i’ve got to make sure you get to bed safely
don’t slip on the pavement
remember to wash your face
it’s okay
he’s got my number
but he won’t want to kiss me in the morning
with the sun up and the birds chirping
when there’s coffee to buy and newspapers to read
I am letting this slip away
I’m fine
this isn’t his stop
we can’t transfer here