Blueberry lemonade Smirnoff
bottles
cover the floor.
He is passed out
a beer in his hand.
   I play with the littered blue caps

the drink stings my throat,
   my cigarette burns a hole
in my stockings
at the knee.


I wander alone and always end up at a park,


Where we used to walk
where you’re not allowed in after ten
where he spun me on a merry-go-round until I was sick.


I am drunk and
He knows it, while he hugs me tight,
“it would really hurt to lose you” he says.
I’m not going anywhere, I tell him
and he kisses my cheek.


He holds my hand while we walk home.
I know he does not love me.
But I keep loving him anyway,
and going on walks late at night,
when it’s too dark to see the piled up train parts,
or the cracks in the sidewalk, and he grabs my hand every time I trip.



“I love you” he tells me,
while he hugs me tight on the playground.
and I tell him I love him, too. The difference is, the meaning.