time was carrying us in its palm like spare change

god i wish i could write irreverant casual off the cuff ass pinching poetry like this. i get all obsessive with words and bore myself to death. im going to get drunk by myself one night and just start writing.

(it was so hot...)

It was so hot
you would singe your fingertips
just opening the car door.
But that's nothing compared
to what we did to each other.
The mattress shoved
to the center of your practically
empty sublet.
The cicadas buzzing so loudly
like they were sawing a way
through our thoughts.
It was a defining moment
& that was part of the problem—
The way a thing defined
naturally resists
whatever it means to mean.
& then there would be nothing
left to eat but our words
because we'd blown the week's tips
at the bar.
Surely one of our fantasies
had been of wrecking
the spinning rims on the truck
that belonged to the assholes
next door.
For fun we dragged our Goodwill
couch to the curb
& watched the heat lightning.
Any fool could tell
that time was carrying us
in its palm like spare change.

by Matthew Guenette