There is a fern perched on the windowsill in a white pot,
next to a bowl of pennies and it looks as calm as I’d like to feel next to an ATM.
My idealistic young friends have grown up and away.
There’s a song we used to play while driving upstate
We’d say “I never want to not be here.”
The June that we were seventeen, my friend confessed to me
“He gave me money for plan B, I don’t need it,”
She treated us to pancakes the morning after instead.
We laughed and swore never to do this again.
She does not feel she deserves her BFA.
“Bachelor of NOTHING, BA in BOYS IN MY BED,
My mom works her ass off so I can be wasted in this cab.”
Is this moment romance? Candle lit with guilt?
We used to just date whoever worked at the pizza shop.
I ran the red light in front of
Asbury Park High School and the policeman
didn’t really mind. Driving and writing a poem on
my iPhone beside New Jersey Transit’s North Jersey coast line.
That was today.
Today was lucky, catatonic, surrounded by
Carefully selected props and noises to embellish
The feeling I’m reaching for and missing.