NaPoWriMo #6

i’ve got 40 years Chuck
until i reach
the physical space
of your last words

i may be too sober
for your liking
as i spend my sailing
with you
travelling in the name
of what some
would call
poetry

i think you might’ve
enjoyed the litter
of beercans
stashed throughout
the smoking section

they make us
smoke
in the wind
these days

the snowboarder
with the hot pink thong
smiles at everybody
while commenting
on the chill
and this little alcove
still stinks of the
chemical vanilla
sprayed wantonly
by the woman
in the too-high
for her
heels

i’ll have a beer for you
once i get
where i’m going

and pretend
that these words
matter

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