By jill (jills@wam.umd.edu)
Date: 8 July 2000

ironclad

i have access to you,
numbers to your father's pager, your mother's cell phone.
your house, your grandparents,
yet i can't bring myself to call.
i can't talk to you,
but i am dying to.

i am in pain,
my knees hurt, i have bug bites all over.
a skinned knee and a gashed toe,
but they will heal.
i, on the other hand, may not,
so i will nurse this.

i am drunk,
i have one Heineken, i have another.
the vodka cranberries, then the shot,
but i wanted to leave with you.
you, however, were silent,
you just found a quiet place for us to go.

i am humbled,
the bridge at night, the beach.
the racetrack and the underside of the city,
but i feel like we haven't gotten anywhere.
no one is saying anything.

and two nothings are suddenly coming together to make a scene.
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