Lovers, Strangers
I was the steely clang of morning’s haste
that thrashed its way into your lucidity.
You were the hungover smile that I
flashed by, grabbing still muddy work boots
for another 2 week rotation on a
lonely patch of blood and sweat.
I was the long phone call,
and the expensive day dream.
You were the haggard photograph,
kept on every bedside hotel room table.
Lovers,
Strangers,
Lovers,
…Strangers
The phone calls grew shorter.
The rotations home,
felt less like
…home
I was the steely clang in your
search for normalcy
and your smile
…hungover
began to rust in the sweat
I brought home,
even in my oil stained hands.
We grew apart,
ripped the tether
that bound suburbia
to the rig floor where
I worked to keep that smile
hungover until I could
bring home a coffee grin.
But you were tired of waiting.
I can’t blame you, for that.
But even here,
now…
I miss the smell of vodka
and cherry lip balm.
I miss your tired eyes,
winking goodbye at 4 a.m;
and the way they
shined when I flew
back home.
The steely clang of morning is
here, once again.
But this time, I’m in no rush.
I grab my boots, now clean and shined,
and wonder if you’re just as hungover…
as I am.
-James Kelley 2014, All Rights Reserved.
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