trombone days

poem from the vault

as I crossed the road I had a poem in my mind then
a bus hissed by & it was gone

rhythm & all.

beer rained in the bar & that was the first time
either of us dared to smile at each other.
I used to think everything had to have meaning behind it.

every March I wake past noon

days just like a trombone revival & I’m
a tourist at 6 a.m.
that evening, baptized in Miller Lite

a velvet peach blushed outside the window.
we uncovered with one conversation that we both sleep
with our hands between our thighs

& think crying looks like a dawn sky
broken over fruit that doesn’t belong to us.

every March before this I’d say
fall in love, dive into oceans naked

lick the frosting off her nose

hold hands
as you cross the threshold & pretend I give a damn.
heck pretend God prays to you.
I have not yet awoken, it doesn’t matter to me.

someone to take care of & that’s all it took.
well morning still thinks of me as a trespasser

but maybe I liked everything in the dead of winter
when I thought my body was rooted in my failure

the rest of the world moving on from me.

now when I hear the garbage truck
groan its bass with the sun’s stinking harmony I think
beer dripped down our faces &
life’s in full spring

rhythm & all.

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