Curtain Call - Their / They're / There

Nineteen years

Just old enough to think you’ve seen it all

This stop sign’s an undramatic curtain call

A collection of all my fears

Collecting thoughts

I caught my breath

In a newer knapsack to salvage what was left of you

I packed my things and carried them home

And then I carried you home

Safety surrounds me

In late light security

A vision quest on city streets

Obscuring where the city sleeps all night

The headlights don’t work this time

The headlights are held on the turn signal’s swan song

I sold your things to call up a cab

And you picked up the tab

300 bucks

Your body’s on the trunk

Engine is locked

The rope is in the trunk

I counted backwards

I counted hours

I counted ways to pick your frame apart