There is a diner down the street
Where we sit to talk and think.
Our own Thanksgiving:
In the middle of June
In the middle of the night,
In some god-awful town
We couldn't wait to get out of.
Do you remember?
The waitress asked if we wanted coffee.
You were so out of your body
You wept.
I apologized only for embarrassment.
Don't ruin this for me.
You looked good.
Your once sunken, steaming eyes
are bright.
Not bright enough to be a picture,
but pretty **** close.
Reach your hand across the stained table,
to touch mine grasping a pink package,
of kind-of-sweet sugar.
The clock watched my eyes look for ghosts to talk about.
You don't have to be sorry
for the night you went too far.
I know that is hard.
I'm writing you a letter now.
I'll smudge the return address.
I hope you are thankful for someone like me.