Enduring

I haven’t seen it, yet, but things are going well.
The absence bears down on me like the moon over Krakow.

Steaks on the grill make hair on the head smell of summer,
a calf’s burning diaper.

A pirate’s mixture of rum and the highway left me in search of sea.
The fifth dimension of hell surfaces a black hole of sound.

The sun has set, memories buried, inhibitions burned right
before someone yells, “Happy New Year!”