scotch breath from two rounds of nerve killers at the PHI
desperately trying to open a pack of mints on atwood street
ratty old leather coat ratty goatee feeling unwashed because
of fear the college kids already stalking the night in half-drunken
stumbling girls laughing boys howling all of oakland/pittsburgh
waiting on the snowfall black sky no moon no chance of running away
from this down mckee place he catches a glimpse of her on the third floor
in front of her mirror maroon shirt hair pulled back putting on make-up
her mouth puckered for the first time the same way he’ll see it
for so many years only he doesn’t know that yet he thinks he hopes
this’ll never get old he hates beginnings he hates ends he hates that
they are not as familiar yet as he wants them to be so he watches her
like a stranger with his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest
as someone shouts the revelry he feels and he thinks yes yes yes yes
she’s the one.

-- John Grochalski