It’s on nights like this
that the wall of smiles crumbles,
dimple by sparkling squint,
with a only a faint sigh to be heard
as it crashes.
How is it that things so labored
falter so quietly?
As the roads spread ahead of us,
vast and dim,
lit half-heartedly and glistening
with the sheen of a promised storm,
the night, worn out of shopping
late at resoundingly vacant stores,
hung lifeless and limp,
an expanse of exhaustion,
over our worn out being.
Nothing was left for us,
not the effort of pretense,
not the thrill of acquisition,
not even the recurrent name of a friend.
There we were, naked on the inside,
bereft of even the comfort of joy.
We had only for company,