happy hour

at the cafe
when you came out to play

we all waited to hear you say
things would be different today

but small glasses full of life
a simple spoon and a desperate knife

one brown bag and happy hour
one sweet sun and soaking shower

on the menu by the kitchen sink
a sleeveless arm refused to think

a ruby orange cantaloupe
with stabbing little rays of hope

amazing pieces of mild despair
disguised themselves in heated air

closing time on Junk Avenue
in deepest dark i can imagine you

nervous people speeding by
none slow enough to hear you cry

in early morning happy hours
they cover you with passing flowers

at the cafe
when you came out to play

we all waited to hear you say
things would be different today