I ducked out of the bar leaving jacket and drink behind when I had finally had enough.
The moon threw its high silver down on muddy brown streets
and I realized I was right where I was supposed to be, soaking up ice
through the tattered cuffs of my jeans. I wandered for a long time
in and out of neighborhoods and fantasy, ignoring
the buzzing in my pocket and the feeling in my heart.
I stumbled into a frozen park and caught my breath on the metal bench—
all around my feet were hearts and flowers drawn on the chalk. A memorial
for a girl named Emily: “We miss you!” said one of the drawings. Another one:
“Dammit my cigerets.” A little further down the blurry path I found a pond
so filled with ducks I could barely see the water. They floated there,
three hundred of them bobbing together in the January night,
brief interlude on their animal pilgrimage tracing the outline
of this continent on hollow wings. And there I was: drunk and sad
and taking pictures on my iPhone.
