to the bartender at my second favorite venue, whose name may be Ben

when you left the garden
toting those cases of beer,
somehow accidentally-on-purpose
the door got closed and
he and I were suddenly locked out,
together, alone.

I was downright
thrilled. there was something magical
in the air that night, and I
wanted to drink it in,
silvery and heady as
midnight dew in the tiny cups
of night-blooming flowers.
the sky felt like
there should be a full moon,
though I’m pretty sure
there wasn’t.

he came back over
to sit on the bench
next to me
and our knees were
touching. we were the
only people there. even though
I was cold without a coat,
I wanted that moment
to last forever – or at least
ten more minutes –
but you came back
far too soon
for my taste.

next time stay away
just a little bit longer,
won’t you?

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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