Poem for the Perseids

I’ll never understand your dispassionate view of music on the radio
or the way you insist on touching my arm
during the lulls in conversation.

There’s a meteor shower later tonight
and you promised to wake me with a kiss
or a phone call as proxy.

I can’t find my blanket
or the keys to the car
I know you’d be worried if you knew.

I’ll never understand your dispassionate view of music on the radio
or the way you make me leave my stubble in the winter

There’s a meteor shower later tonight
and I’m going to pick you up by the bridge
drive, so quietly, to that soundless area
over the hill,
by the school with the broken swings
and overgrown fields.

While we stare into the streaking void
you’ll awkwardly hold my arm
while humming an atonal song
and I’ll never understand your dispassionate view of music on the radio.

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