Chair rocked back against the bricks
two splashes of blue
glossed over and steady
trained on Frost’s luminary clock
the two all too often paired
dwelling together on the cost of time
smoke from the cigarette at her lips dances off
and up into the sky.
A half bottle of grinning intoxication held fast
between her thighs,
nagging at the edge of her vision for attention.
The moon has often made for her, a poor date
but with the tools of inebriation close at hand
a deep wound quickly sinks to a dull ache
from a dull ache to a mild consideration
and finally forgotten,
until the moon falls again from the sky.
with this she thoughtful twists the cap
back onto the bottle.
coherent enough to tell her date
“Best to save some for tomorrow night”
the moon seemed to give its silent approval.