Dim white noise in low light, bar chatter
failing to replace the foreground stain head noise
of a re-remembered day
falling onto me like a tilted dresser
drawers sliding and knocking together
and this seat on the far wall behind the pool table
in the sound and shadow of resin smacking like rock
is the bottom of the stairs.
I was a passenger
kicking around trash to make room
and thanking you for taking me
home, but you took me to yours instead and
said you didn’t mind if I crashed.
When I first remembered I realized that I knew more
every minute what was happening until
it was, and I was remembering like it was already over.
You were sorry then.
But I was, in the immediacy, as far from you as I’d ever be.