in some place South by New England
brian and i sat side by side at an intangible bar
peeling labels and glue off proverbial bottles
two-layered imaging together all the bad things i could do
and taking turns at the jukebox. he played a hip hop number
in a honkytonk. that white hat is just a slight of hand.
i apologized for my mood, being a girl, he shrugged
thin shoulders and changed the subject back to dinosaurs
and library books. time lost track and hours stretched.
brian likes my poetry; i'm tired but trying to tell him
that i like his too, if he'd only write more of it.
the make believe barman took the handles off the taps.
at our revelation i left him alone with a shot
and two quarters for the only song left on the jukebox.
next time, brian, i'll wear my boots so we can dance.