Independence Day in December

My sock was falling off in the bar.  Unheard of!  Unsittable floor they all have firm hands which grope for firm muscles.  I hear it.  Either door or window.  I made it.  Door!  No; window.  Window, window, window – get it!  I burned myself on either a toaster oven or a Scrabble tile.  And there is no toaster oven in the kitchen.  Just a french fry in my book bag.  Sullied, tainted, touched: Dyedred hair elderly lady with hot pink lipstick sneers and clears her throat.  Erin Burke’s back against mine: Where’s my window?  Sugar bubbles my snowflake neck.  I don’t read the hieroglyphics in English or Swedish – a flunkee of dog walking.  And fly I-95 up to forever – Where’s my window?

A holiday over and over – the same one through my mental prism – Half a beer and I’m drunk, half a pool cue and I’m drunk, solids not sunk.  Rachel wears a striped shirt to help me remember.  How can I forget, a toaster oven, the heat, and Where’s my window?

Erin makes a gin gimlet to help me remember.  I remember.  Len is singing and singing.  Steal my what?  I for once don’t dance.  Watch them momentary glee.  What was that.  Summer must’ve sneezed in its sleep.  My foot hovers over my head for a second.  I see it.  The unsittable floor firm hands took my ankle.  If you steal my soles.  Ceiling smeared with ice is righted.  Floor in its place, right next to a photograph.  Smile.  Now smile!  Insincere baseball fan, I won!  I remember a crab scuttling across my nose.  The poet knows: Goat cheese and garlic bedspread with a leather jacket in a hotel.  Where’s my window?  Overlooking a race or a candle.  Erin makes me an omelet to help me remember.  I don’t remember.  Where is my window?  Now way out, I can only let in.