December less one cynic

No plane rides this December. No awkward run-ins at Polo Park counters. No accidental high school reunions. No late nights with old friends or fighting for cabs on the snowy streets of the Exchange district. No entrance to small city gay bars full of men who wonder who you are where you’ve been lately.

Only a piece of art and an idea of home, this place we hang our clothes at. So lie down under the string of postcards and art show cards you’ve hung up and wonder where you are. Lay in the haze of mid morning and wonder when your father will be coming to wake you for school.

The cell phone sings its a.m. anthem. The water drips through pipes and down the showerhead. The gas runs in and heats the room; the fridge cools the broccoli.

Don’t wake up, five more minutes to sleep it off. Let the shower pour just like it always has. Let it all remind you of where you came from and what will bring you home.