We were all for
Gathering stories about the city
Hodge podging them into one considerable epilogue
Hosting a focus on
The construction never finished
The thin line between firework pops and gun shots
The skunky beer some will still guzzle
One after another
Because it’s only 1 dollar
Grazianos and Pollock’s
Who chills the cheapest six pack
Who has the most tilt on pinball

Do we ever grow up?
I think the term
The concept
Is a longstanding myth
A story passed down
Maybe a hoax
This thing we wait for
Only to watch it fall away behind us
Like time in the palm
Fingers kind of closed
Just cupping air
A pretend for the gullible
For the chairs in the backyard
Filled with various backsides and stories
Always something more to tell
And one or two good enough to repeat
No one ever told me
I would want it so much
And only conquer wisps of it
If that, if any
If then, so what now—

I hope you remember your Saturdays
The ones that had nothing planned
The ones filled to the brim
The ones that kick off with the
“oh fuck what did I do last night’s”
the ones with morning sex
brunch sex
the way the sun looks on the grass that needs cut

the midnight hammocks under our eyes
my dear of dears we earned them
every
single
swing.