Sweethearts

One day

either you

or me

as if drugged

will be staring

at a collage

of photos

in an unfamiliar

foyer,

the other

sleeping

in the next room over

inside a shiny box

like a saw-in-half trick

where everyone

seated in rows

is waiting for something

to happen.

I know

I’ll be stuck

in that first room

where old friends

who knew

you briefly

but remember your smile

will hang out,

away from family.

I’ll be there,

almost

out the door,

alone

waiting as if for you

to come out

of the bathroom,

so we could

stand again

like we did our entire lives,

together

in the darkest corners,

making

dirty jokes,

not knowing what to say

to sadness,

eager to leave

when nobody’s

looking,

out across

a silver parking lot

like geese

breaking off

a lake.