Your Thirst

Who knows what time the sun will set?

The golden hour never ending,

Washing down your thirst

With water from the hose.

These cars are modern sculptures,

Massive, stationary.

My second son is waiting at the football field.

My wife is staying at a friend's

Deciding if she wants to leave.

I'd sneak a cig, but he would smell.

The sun's obscene and aimed at me.

It flares as still as traffic.

I no longer know

How all my days are meant to work,

How years supposedly combine

Or fit,

My pieces always spilled across the carpet.

I was growing up

To fly a starship.

- 9/18/25