Like the notes you make in an auto which go into some drawer later, and you don’t see them ever again
Like the debit card that goes into your front pocket instead of your wallet, like it should, after long sessions of beer
Like that last cigarette you were’t going to smoke
Like the mug of beer you don’t know why you drink
Like the earphones you can’t find when you want to pack in a hurry
Like reading blogs that set your heart on green-red and yellow fire
Like piles of books unread
Like the change that clinkers in your purse
Like the lie you forgot
Like the workplace that is yours
Like the workplace that is more yours after everybody leaves
Like the silence that falls on the room after you lock
Like the lights that hesitate to pull out fully
Like the ring of the bell that is freakishly long on Tuesdays.
Rum Lola Rum 