at midnight: basements full of rolling youth
and anorexic cigarettes
i miss sixteen
rushing home to stand in the shower fully clothed
to take off each clinging cloth
to scrub furiously with St. Ives soap until the smoke ran clear
(i miss) when two a.m. was past curfew and there was someone waiting up
and worried
everything reeks of spilled champagne
and holidays that we celebrated with pills
and coke heads and mothy garage lights
(long legs in loafers)
kissing each other on the sofa
but coming home alone.
