NOT A DAY

Your hats rumpled and slanted on your cowlicked head.
Your sandwiches behind the wheel of your truck.
Your worn leather loafers.
Your standing at the sink for long drinks of water.
Your radio on in the garage.
Your knee-bouncing piano-playing from the basement.
Your polaroid self portraits.
Your hammered, often bruised fingernails.
Your keeping of bottle rockets in the junk drawer.
Just you.
Forever miss...