too many nights out

The bag is full of underwear and the sweater song is on the player in the warm car. I am remembering the way my friends dance, bending my torso into those shapes, the shimmies and hip thrusts of tall slender women. The double wide gay bar is empty, relaxed, but the Vid is hopping, comfortable if sceny. Will I dream tonight? Old men haunt the crack between my pillows. Days I spend on the internet pricking those who have injured me. I am going to try on my bag full of underwear. The girls ride off in their cars to contact the boys and we string something that looks like love between our hearts like fishing wire.