Jeremy Wm. Farrington
Featured image: untitled © Charles Park 2019


You’re behind the wheel and we’re driving around town. For a minute
I flashback to being on foot, us walking in circles
until I wound up the courage to ask you out.

The air in the car is still, so I crack the window and autumn falls in.
At the next stop sign, you make a hard right, then another into a parking space facing a wall.
Your cheeks are wet before the car is in park.

This is not what I expected but you knew
the whole time that we were going nowhere, just passing parking lot after parking lot
while you looked for something big enough to dump me in.

You don’t need to say anything but keep talking anyway.
I can barely hear you, I’m so deep into my head, your words
are almost inaudible, although maybe it’s just that

you are speaking a language I no longer understand.
Because you are crying, I want to comfort you
and hate myself for putting you through this.

You lean in close to me so that our noses are almost touching.
We agree to one last time for old time’s sake
but I lose my nerve on your front lawn. I say that I want to be a man about this

without admitting I don’t know how.
I’m afraid to look at you, so I stare
into the dark of the sky

settling on two stars watching like eyes,
separated only by a nose
but in reality light years apart.