six gold bands

six gold bands

i listen to you,
trying to remember
1982.

back when you weren't rich,
successful,
and married.

and haggard.

you talk of forty,
whilst i count 25 years
of mistakes, infinite trust,
and terminal heartache.

soon,
you'll squeeze
into two taxis.
wake a bed-hot, dreaming wife
with a Budweiser overture.

and i'll hate an empty train
an unshared taxi bill,
and drink myself,
closer
to a grateful end.