Walking home from the bar,
it was dark and chilly the way
January nights are in Phoenix; the traffic
sped by unaware (it always is). I was thinking
I should call people more – bourbon makes me nostalgic—
but I’m shitty on the telephone and run out of things
to say. Just past Fiesta Navidad Avenue, I was thinking
I should make more effort
when a shadow
in the form of a pear-shaped girl
handed me a card. It was
the same size as the bubblegum cards I collected
when I was a kid, but when I looked at it
it was a picture of Jesus. I looked back for the girl—
but she melted back into a shadow. When I looked
on the back of the card for stats, there was
an 800 number.
I considered calling.
But we ran out of things to say
a long time ago.
I put the picture in my pocket.
I might have been drunk, but I knew
that was no excuse
for littering.
