nervous wreck
he's there soon after the crash and i'm
sitting on the side of the road
bystander by nature, shifting my feet
the way i always do when i'm nervous.
i wipe my nose and he notices me
sniffing; he asks "little miss,
have you been doing things you
regret?"
"just living, if that counts, sir" i reply, my
tongue as dry as my eyes,
i want to go home and
hold my love,
let her coffee-seashore
scent fill my lungs until
i can breathe normally again.
and even though logically, i was
standing by and couldn't have,
even if i tried, saved the girls in the car,
i feel like i have failed and
when i go home i lock her out of bed.
she sits by the door with the dog and listens to me cry
passing notes through the crack in the frame.
i will love my coffee girl,
the way she loves her nervous wreck.