Lovers, Strangers

I was the steely clang of morning’s haste that thrashed its way into your lucidity. You were the hungover smile that I flashed by, grabbing still muddy work boots for another 2 week rotation on a lonely patch of blood and sweat. I was the long phone call, and the expensive day dream. You were the haggard photograph, kept on every bedside hotel room table. Lovers, Strangers, Lovers, …Strangers The phone calls grew shorter. The rotations home, felt less like …home I was the steely clang in your search for normalcy and your smile …hungover began to rust in the sweat I brought home, even in my oil stained hands. We grew apart, ripped the tether that bound suburbia to the rig floor where I worked to keep that smile hungover until I could bring home a coffee grin. But you were tired of waiting. I can’t blame you, for that. But even here, now… I miss the smell of vodka and cherry lip balm. I miss your tired eyes, winking goodbye at 4 a.m; and the way they shined when I flew back home. The steely clang of morning is here, once again. But this time, I’m in no rush. I grab my boots, now clean and shined, and wonder if you’re just as hungover… as I am. -James Kelley 2014, All Rights Reserved.