paper cups

i couldn't tell the difference between

the late-teen, off-key singing in the back

or the radio.

then you,

laying like a tired queen on her throne

your feet pressing up the window

and your chin on your knee

thinking what situations we find ourselves in

you were laughing to yourself

you're still the only one who knows

the state that i was in

or the state that we were driving in.

pouring out of the car.

stumbling up your stairs.

waking up around four

to the sound of your father beating on the door:

"girl, that boy had better be gone soon."

oh, how disappointed he'd have been

my reputation as that boy will always precede me

in my conversations with him.

well, if thats what love really is

four drunk-as-fuck, tired kids

waxing our politics to the sound

of rain playing couplets

on the door awning

that won't come more than more than once

so don't wear your weary eyes out

like dixie cups attached to string,

from one best friends house to the other

we sing,

"will you come this time tomorrow?"