A duet on the radio pleads to end
each day in song. If I had the choice,
my song would be quiet,
a little twang,
a trill when the voice hops up.
We took turns pointing at all the girls who would scream.
You couldn't watch so you smoked,
occasionally glancing up at this pirate ship.
We play cards to drink
quicker than we would on our own.
The dearler'd say "drop"
and we'd slap the single card,
sweat-stuck against our foreheads…