Morning To Wait For

No one showed up,
what a shock to the system
it’s almost like no one
else listened when she told them
the time that was listed on
all of the invites, now clogging
the storm drains throughout town,
while the sun’s going down
over everything.
She’s wearing her older sister’s dress
with a pencil box full of the acid
she bought from the bum by the liquor store,
who gave her a discount
for showing him everything
short of what he couldn’t touch
if he tried.
It’s so warm outside like the inside
of a mouth and the wind is like
the shallow breaths she’s taking
while making up excuses for the folks
that just never quite showed.
It’s all too obvious to pretend not to know.
The music still worked through
the wired in speakers she dug out of the basement
where nobody hung out since the sixties.
She played some songs by the Pixies
and danced by herself sort of swaying
and playing with the corners of a tab
she held close to her chest.
She took licks off the rest
because why not?
She paid for them all with her savings
that could have taken her clear out of town,
and now that she was the clown
who believed she could do something
worth the time of this boring place;
why not take the front seat on the ride
to the end of the line?
Where the owls heads spin three hundred and sixty
degrees to make you feel sickly
just thinking about the bones
in their necks and regrets
that match up to that feeling.
She was so used to kneeling she was on her
bare feet the whole night
while the friction tore holes
in her tights but she danced
for the light, like there wasn’t
a morning to wait for.