odd things, humans.

we like to say it'll be okay
in the end,
if only to fool ourselves that it can't be over
until we're brilliant again;

we like to say
we've only got to be brave, believe
we can drown old scars
in cheap beer,
talking up the next new distraction
until we're breathless, believe
we're dancing through our darkest hours,
and dawn will come in a moment,
holding hands with a graceless hangover --

and you call up your favorite ex-girlfriend
for a day to spend *******
     each other senseless
and talking about World War II
battles lost due to
     failure in communication.

she's okay with your sloppy metaphors
as long as you stop
for cheeseburgers on the way home.