My bed stays warm
Sunday mornings
but when I hold a door
for an elderly woman
and her walker
it is for the smile.

It's two a.m. -
the bars just closed.

I sit, wrapped in a black hoodie
and wonder if the black ice
caught you by surprise this time
as his hand explored
your skirt
prepping his night cap.

Did you find another
brown haired, green eyed
*******
who reminds you
of our faded picture
stashed in your sock drawer?

I hope not.

Happy birthday.

It's two a.m.
and a distant siren
bellows through the flurries.

The bars just closed.

I sit, wrapped in the hoodie
you gave me years ago
wondering if the black ice
caught you by surprise
while his hand
was up your skirt
prepping his night cap.

Did you find another
brown hair, green eyed
*******
who reminds you
of that faded picture
stashed in your sock drawer?

I hope it wasn't you
the siren sings for tonight.

Happy Birthday.

I saw him at Denny's:
two a.m. Tuesday
sitting alone in the corner booth
slowly dragging Hot Wheels
over napkin ramps;
his eyes quick to the door
at every open.

The pancakes were bland.

I smile
when I come to bed
and the sheets are wrapped
all around
because you insist
the thermostat must be
70 degrees
because you sleep
better in the cold.

We walked through pale yellow daisies,
a red ribbon wrapped around your neck,
as black birds cawed in the distance
and cicadas sang in the treeline.

With storm clouds in your eyes,
the wind picked up dust,
surrounded us, and the daisies wilted
because it was October;

the frost had come.

I tripped
into a wall cloud.
(I think I broke it open.)

A funnel fell
from the bottom
upon a farmhouse
in Nebraska

spread across
an open field -
a mile wide

swallowing the
pasture in one
gulp -

and tossed stones
from the top.
(Like snow in August)

There were
no
survivors.