and you're wearing my black dave alvin t-shirt
like it was a flag
(you wear it almost every night before we go to bed and
I'd hate to deprive you of even appropriated pajamas
so you can just have it now, I guess
it can just be yours)
you've fallen asleep in the easy chair again
and it creaks as it
rocks back and forth and back
you spent hours poring over a book with sad stories
about people being hurt but people try to help them
and you're trying to help them, aren't you?
you want to help them
and I think you're going to.
I'm sitting at the kitchen table
reading an ellroy book and feeling good
sipping at a tall glass of coke zero
the ice cubes clink between the edges
icebergs in the brown sea
I bought the two liter bottle about two months ago
haven't had much of it since, so it's gone flat
but that's okay
because something being old isn't the same as it being bad
because it's still sweet
and it still gets me out of bed in the morning
and it still helps my eyes open just a little bit wider--
they'd be open anyway, of course--
but with this? I drink this in
and the moon shines a little brighter.
you're snoring just a little.
I told you that you do but you didn't believe me.
but I wouldn't lie. the fifty bucks that I lost
at last week's poker game make it clear that I can't
even when I want to
so you're safe
because you only deserve the truth.
and here's the truth:
I want us to crawl up to the moon.
it's bright and there's a corner sliced out of it
I'll bring the blue blanket you liked so much
and you snag a pillow or three.
if you fell asleep up there,
it probably wouldn't creak as much
but if it did, that'd be okay.
I sorta like the creaks, now that I think about it
(and the snores, too)
because they remind me that you're still here
even if I turn away for a few minutes
to write you something.