one poem
on the way to a diner, at a diner, and after a diner
The midwinter sky reflected off of her wet eyes
as she told me that
if i looked up
i could see how fast we were going.
on the way to the diner,
where she sipped water and had
a grilled cheese sandwich
and jason and i tried our best
to be funny and impressive.
in the wee hours
of the morning we drove all over creation
(or Maryland or something)
listening to the Velvet Underground
looking for a haunted plantation.
i remember her in the back seat, next to me.
i was afraid to look directly at her
because i knew
what she looked like in the light
and that not even night
could cover up what i look like all the time.
the four of us ended up watching
a Mexican movie in the basement
of a friend who was out of town.
after the movie was over and lights were out,
i crawled into bed with her for the first time,
and for the first time
i knew what it was like to lay down to sleep
with a warm girl in the freezing dark.
(1/14/03, 3/16/04, 3/25/04)
(©2004, john rogers)