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Black as - what they say, ink? -
late.  I take a little detour
windows down, top open,
roll up on The Captain's Locker,
pay too much for booze after two a.m.

I miss the turn the first time;
it's been awhile.
I'm surprised at all the cars,
then remember I was always surprised
  by all the cars,
  a parking lot jammed and stretched back
  winding along Hillside, a little up and down
for its twist.

I have a bottle beside me on the seat.
A small one.  We're older now.
I caught your porch out of the corner
    of my eye
I had to turn around butt first
in the last drive and cruise it again.
You weren't out there.  Of course you weren't.
You don't smoke anymore.