Email Poem

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Poem

We sit on the wet pavement of the 7/11 at 4 AM, 
smoking camels beneath the eerie glow of the 
gas station lights. This is the hour of nostalgia.

You're all bubble gum day dreams and heart 
shaped sunglasses with a bad attitude. 
I'm all liquid depression and over sized 
hoodies with a drinking problem.

We watch as the morning cracks the sky 
open like an egg as the world slowly wakes 
and the darkness of a highway becomes 
speckled with the orbs of headlights.

We flick our cigarette butts towards the gas 
pumps because we know it's a bad idea.
In a book bag there is a bottle of jager -
I take a good drag and pass it to you -
a toast to this hour of nostalgia. 


-kelsey jade

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