Finishing the show

A slow, lazy night alone.

Hair tied up with greasy roots
And red spots on the chin and the
Left bridge of a nose that no one will
Bring up because that’s just rude.
A sweatshirt that smells like the
Cologne that is left on bed-sheets
After the weekly Wednesday sleepover.
Sticky residue of the Vanilla Bean
Shake in a filmy glass tenanting
A Wine or Die coaster.
The last look at things imagined
And brought to screens smaller than
Books and bigger than walls.
A diner with the best coffee,
A door with yellow frame around the
Peephole,
A New Year’s count down,
A death unpredictable.
Countless of hours learning the ticks
And the dramas of those who
Did not exist until pen put to paper
And now they end with
The credits.
Time to take a shower
Mourn
And find a new show.