Will the beer-soused squalling of tech-bros across the street,
Become a memory that I’m fond of,
Dredging up the scent of Hayes Valley in 2016,
With unfinished projects and my cat,
A slow cooker of curry, the smell snaking through my apartment,
And me in my overalls wondering about the future.
George Jones, “He Stopped Loving Her Today” is playing,
It’s 1979 for three minutes and seventeen seconds,
Arlus fetching me grape soda at midnight,
Scampering across Loyola Avenue,
Scuffed black boots and torn jeans,
Her frizzy hair flying in the cold Chicago wind.
I write about some now that is not now,
Some tomorrow that I invent,
And wait for you.