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