12pack

i see the football game's score
on the tv in the liquor store,
it makes me think of you.

then i scoff across the
gritty linoleum floor.

late november in wisconsin and
the ground so cold so hard, the wet dirt sticks
like it's frozen solid. the tile like sandpaper
beneath my boots.

piss-yellow fluorescent lights fixed in the ceiling,
buzzing and moaning,
with dead horse flies
like polka dots caught in the humming and the droning.
my ears twitched
the lights flicked

and

as my eyes make a decision
the variety 12pack gives me tunnel vision
with christmas colors like evergreen
and brick red.
then i wonder when i'll see your cute face again.