Sweethearts
By C.L. O’Dell
One day
either you
or me
as if drugged
will be staring
at a collage
of photos
in an unfamiliar
foyer,
the other
sleeping
in the next room over
inside a shiny box
like a saw-in-half trick
where everyone
seated in rows
is waiting for something
to happen.
I know
I’ll be stuck
in that first room
where old friends
who knew
you briefly
but remember your smile
will hang out,
away from family.
I’ll be there,
almost
out the door,
alone
waiting as if for you
to come out
of the bathroom,
so we could
stand again
like we did our entire lives,
together
in the darkest corners,
making
dirty jokes,
not knowing what to say
to sadness,
eager to leave
when nobody’s
looking,
out across
a silver parking lot
like geese
breaking off
a lake.
