burger boy

Seeing you feels like a dream now when I think about it,

One where I am moving through a familiar place and

see a familiar person but can’t put

two and two together. Where I have something

important to say but keep opening my mouth and

nothing comes out.

You’re my waiter, I’m fifteen again.

I saw you every day.

Now you’re taking care of your mother in some shitty duplex and

taking my order for a Jim Beam and Sprite.

Somehow I find things to say.

You keep coming over like you expect something from me

and I think you always did.

You wanted me to be better than I was but here I am.

My skirt is too short to be sitting on this barstool and I’m drunk at one p.m.

At least it’s Sunday.

At least I get to leave this Red Robin and go home and be twenty-five, not

fifteen, not thrashing.