The Retort

Please post notice
of when it’s time to leave.
Your impatience purrs
and I can’t tell when it’s reaching the brim
until uneasy quick steps
and pressure release
find me once again struggling to keep up.

Neon buzz, slowly seeping grime from
custodial neglect and the impermanence
of too warm for jacket too brisk for short sleeves.
Is there a certain empty glass somewhere in this town?
A match perfect like only reverend moon
could have played Emma to your
lopsided need for companionship.

At last I can lean, posture be damned.
Amidst jukebox quarrels it appears the
local fraternity has reunited once more.
I put my palm in a gin puddle.
you put yours in mine
but only on nights like these.