dreamfire

in the passenger seat

the 2 a.m fast food fry salt

lingers on my tongue, but not yours

(it was so sweet of you to offer a ride)

i'm eyeballing you the whole time, and—

well, nothing happens

so i step out to the grasshoppers who backdrop

our "friend hug".

i smile and say:

"thanks for driving me home"

you smile and say:

"no problem"

the night waltzes me into bed without you

and i dream of something

i can't remember what

but there were gunshots—

and they became realer and realer

so hyperreal that

i wake up

and i can still hear the gunshots

my roommate dawdles there at the front door

just like i'd been dawdling in the car

"what's happening?"

"go see for yourself"

a candlelight pulse beckons me out back

& there in the parking lot i see amber decay—

something is exploding.

the fire department is there, shotgunning water

into this raging torrent of flame

burnt fence, charred tree, and a car—

or what was once a car

& i thanked god it wasn't yours

my roommate joins me outside with a glass of water

"i don't think anybody was hurt"

"oh, thank goodness"

i think of you again that night

the way i'm thinking of you right now

but now that fire, just a cool sight back then

is something more, something that burns me

when i think of how

nothing happened when you took me home

or after, really

but too much has happened since then

and we may only ever have "friend hugs" now.

the next morning, i head back to the parking lot

the charred machine remains

windows eviscerated

there's a phone in there too, charbroiled

i marvel at how someone's luck could be so bad

but never thought i'd be able to say that about you.

as swiftly as that fire had singed everything in its path

i'd swiftly stopped thinking about you.

and the pain of that now

is just my own brand of bad luck.