What do you do when the party is over?Â
The endless parties of life
and their endless cyclesÂ
with the tumbling of champagneÂ
into the breakable glassesÂ
and the tumbling of the legs of college girls
bruised as they stumble home
and use the black mirror to cry to their unshaven boyfriendsÂ
who can only shrug
or like the teenagers puking in the frosted grass at dawnÂ
laughing triumphantly to each other after he wipes his mouthÂ
he knows a winter sun and the summer night of his existence
but cannot see the autumn afternoonÂ
and the promises it makesÂ
like us,
he wonders about the eyes ofÂ
blue, hazel, and green he passesÂ
imagining their parties and lonely nights the sameÂ
feeling the chill that follows behind the gust of wind that carries us awayÂ
Where do you go when you are done?
soft or cruel,
I’ll be there too.
Â