I've only got one bar
on my phone and there's only
one more between here and home.
Ten dollars in my pocket may as well
be a thousand. Like a penny
in the fusebox, I could make it last
until the lights go out. There's a cowboy
band playing. A wooden Indian
by the door. I don't think he listens
to their stories anymore. He's quiet
on the subject. He's quite an object
of curiosity. Instead of two-stepping
all night long, maybe I should take
that Indian home. Use the last bar
to call Coleen. Tell her to put a ***
of cowboy coffee on. We'll tell stories
of our own. Sing songs in the old way
about better days when we were young.

on the spot
wavered feelings
looking back heart aches
for not intended it does
there are times when
we really feel so secured,
happy with that special person
but we just take it for granted
those beautiful memories
the laughter,
the song that reminded us,
& the time
when we fall
but lied
miserably to our self
miserably suffered
love
for cursing it.