salvations army of hope

a keeper of a day
she wanted nothing to do with his silence
written less walls and papers white
she wanted the hole to remain large
where he kept her waiting
on bus tickets and overpriced blue jeans
she couldn’t say for fact that love had come down to its finest moment
over beer spackled rings of onion layers
and the dripping soaked napkins of grease
a moment defines itself
and reappears in new motive
she was the wonder of her life
wandering around the questions as she liked to remain in bafflement
he stayed on the left side of the road
the diner across the street kept his order by memory
and his fingers always stained themselves tar honey brown
if she couldn’t live complete in him, then who could she
the moment you hear the sound of the 6wheeler catching up to your rearview mirror
you know you’ve lost your chase
the slow down to peddle
makes the metal of your rings clink together oddly
and that’s when you know you’ve ended up alone
without a keeper of your days
to tell you where you’ve been
and just how long you have stared out that breakfast joint window
and when did he say he was coming back
after the rain
after the darkness turned to sunrise
after the waitress kicks you out
and you beg for one last coffee to go
you realize then you never did drink coffee
it was his word against your own
and now
out on the curb
the heat of styrofoam warming you down to lungs
deep into your pit of a stomach
nauseous with fact
the horn wakes you with conscious
the old man
with the rimed hairline
sticks his tongue out
loops it around in the air
and slithers it back in again
gesture to you and your lonesome face
“honey you want a ride”
but you were no honey
and somebody’s kid
if only you could remember at what point
if ever you said goodbye
and how you became the wait
in line
the drugstore ile five
greeted you with maxi pads
and then you realized you weren’t bleeding
hadn’t bleed
for months
and this time you coudnt get
back on the bus
and into the blue jeans that favored your reflection
time had warped you into twenty five years to long
if you were to say
it was always his silence that turned you on
turned desolate into salvations army of hope
but no memory could keep your face
and even tar stains forgetful smells
the only memory worth repeat