After a few glasses of blackberry merlot,
and some bites of cold pizza
I leaf through the thick, glossy pages
feeling deeply saddened by his efforts
during our mid-December holiday depression
I feel selfish, and worn out
as he struggles for that crucial piece
that will make him whole
but he sinks deeper and
I'm frustrated that I am no longer his salvation
as he sleeps,
the portfolio sits a solo monologue of
professional leather; articulate
and out of place without being
accompanied by a suit and tie
I smooth the folds in the table cloth
like wrinkles in his soul
and reminisce
of the late night drives
in the old, blue Grand Am
filled with ambition
and the kind of spirit
that would drive me
and it leaked from his hungry lips
He spoke of how he is going to be something;
and take this town by storm
Then, he would look at me with that flicker
of anticipation in his eyes
and smile;
Give me til' the end of July, you'll see...
and I believed him
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