Midday
He puts his cassette in the stereo and sits
and revisits those days,
So far away now that they seem like distant dreams.
Illusions of empty cigarette packages and broken beer bottles,
Of the smell of leather and ethanol,
Of the endless nights of driving,
Of love affairs lasting from when the bar opened to when the sun rose,
Of split knuckles and bleeding lips,
Of life, one that was seldom happy, but rarely mundane.
Then the tape ends and he sits,
And he remembers that it is close to noon,
And it's time for his midday nap.
