"1999"

 henry woke from a dream
and rolled over to find the space in the bed next to him
occupied by a body he didn't recognize-

annie stumbled home
on a cold morning in april
with her shirt on backwards
desperately afraid
of being seen
by someone who might
recognize her-

we all wanted so much more-
that year-
we all wanted more-

it was the year we discovered
johnny cash and
willie nelson
and every time we played those songs as we drove to the all-night diner we knew
that we were making memories that would tie those songs
to that time. and we liked it.

i've seen enough,
i wanted to say to her,
the way your hair bleeds down your shoulder-
the way your shirt pulls tight around your waist-
the way you cross your feet in front of you as you sit-

i've seen you at your best-
when you're not even trying,

i wanted to tell her everything-

instead i settled for
rushed declarations
that never told her
more than i could play off
as a fantasy of the moment-

and so we would drive around
and i would tell henry the things
i wanted to tell her
as he sat in the passenger side of
my busted minivan-
hoping that the words would echo
into her ears-
hoping that i could convey it passively-

I never did much more
than try to pass it to her physically-
when we slept together
and i never told her what i meant-
and i convinced myself she didn't want to hear it-
and when my minivan drove home in the mornings-
with old southern men on the tape deck-
i passed annie-
sunburnt at early hours-
and i pretended not to know her-
because i would have wanted her
to do the same
for me