Poem: Empty Bottles

If I've learned anything at all in the last month,
it's that we can't identify with the sins of our fathers, and that 
if we rush for everything we want, and ignore the people we need,
We'll move slower than a slaked slug on a salt plain until the near acidic surface renders us still.

I remember flashes of blue on gold, or "olive" as you'd call it.
I vaguely remember firm tender hands steering me to a hardwood dancefloor
As I swayed helplessly to the rhythm of your bare shoulders.
I felt your eyes pulling at a knot in my stomach.

What I'd give to redo that night
I'd find myself stroking your cheek
Instead of rubbing my eyes

I remember sitting outside a café by myself one night
and the sleepy street lights swirling in the corners of my eyes.
I wanted to drive home, to you, but I knew the walk to my car would be hell.
As my head fell
Into my hands, I was afraid I'd never learn.
I mean,
What good are you to a teenage girl if you can't remember her birthday,
Or stay up past 10 to talk about her classes,
Or ask about the empty glass bottles under her bed

Or all the other concerns that flooded my head in the shower,
Forgotten within the hour
As I sink into the couch while "Goodfellas" reflects her teary eyes

But enough about the Sicilian Villain,
Cause the real gangsters are dead and gone,
But the brown birds flying out my kitchen sink
Won't stop screaming and-

(beat)

I remember sitting on the couch next to you
Soft fingers tangling through my hair in a soothing silky stroke.
I tried to ignore your concerned glances as you hesitated to bring up the empty pill bottles under my bed,
And I realized that you and I
Aren't too different after all.

Daniel R