Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The rainstorm that cancelled bowling.

On a night we were trapped
Like sleepy fireflies in a car-shaped jar
On Forest Hill Avenue
As water poured from the sky
As if someone had stabbed a knife in the floor of heaven
And ripped the blade through the tender bottom
Only to discover that heaven wasn't sunlight and warmth
But overwhelming current, quick tide

On that night
We sat in silence, Joe Pug on the radio
And he sang "I've come to test the timbre of my heart,"
And every set of stairs to every apartment building
Was a waterfall
And every set of glasses in the car was fogged, rendered useless

We sat, waiting, and I tied knots in my fingers
Worrying, wishing I wasn't drunk
Wanting to grasp the silver handle and make a run for it
Let the current take me, give me a path or a reason
To do what I would do next

On that night I had less hope than I do now for what lies ahead.

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