Pack

coursing home through a buzzing night
spindly legs wavering like kites
our voices raised in song.
every corner a new farewell,
parting the moment brave as hell,
we are bold and clever.
even if we don't last for long
can't you see we've been young forever,
please don't ask us to stop,
please don't ask us to stop.

this town somehow passes by like
spinning spokes of summers rusty bike
we should have learned to ride.
streets and sidewalks know the tread of
unsteady friendly feet, dread of
waking alone at dawn.
matching each others easy stride
we love the moment already gone,
please don't ask us to stop,
please don't ask us to stop.

greeting sunrise, dairy queen,
making the setting but missing the scene
sleeping on the floor, don't stop anymore,
my tired family. (my tired family).

night will end before it's through, we
won't forget to leave our names here, see
this town was made for us.
time's the river we've got to cross
caulk and float now our party's lost
call me in twenty years.
this is the home we'll leave tomorrow
we'll forget but please
don't ask us to forget,
don't ask us to forget.

Don's Cafe

She had gotten up so early
to open the door at six,
turn the light on against the rain,
brew the coffee and tie her apron on.

They were already waiting,
the regulars, quiet men in seed company hats
who would want to eat eggs
and talk about the weather.
They knew her and would tip her
ten percent in quarters and well-worn dollar bills.

Two more were standing outside the doors,
two students with dripping hair,
sweaters that would soon seem to steam
in the greasy flourescent air.
Only lovers could smile so beatifically,
they were so marvellously tired,
smudgy with spring.
She took them in, gave them the small table
so their knees could touch.
They ordered without menus, giddy,
already shining with her cheer.

Thick food on clattering plates
balanced on her arm as she crowed, crooned, coaxed,
bustling away her sleep, filling cups,
watching her children eat.
She called them sweeties and they were sweet;
She called them honey and they bloomed.

When they finished, the boy and girl,
the rain had stopped, the streetlights had flipped off.
They paid her, tried to repay her,
they had been up all night in love
and she had filled them with warmth,
even the table was warm when she lifted their plates,
for a moment their hands pressed into the circle of heat she left behind.
She grinned, they smiled,
it was morning and they smiled.

For Emily, 2008

We
spent the last day of the year in tangle-town
eating the world bitter,
spitting out the pips.
All the brides of France
tore midnight into strips,
draped us in the sprawl of cities.
We
spent the whole night blind.
And sometime before the new year began,
we got in the car
shut the doors
drove away.