That Night (Inspired By Frank James Christopher Ryan Jr.) (A Walk To The Cemetery To Visit Some Friends) Poem by Kewayne Wadley

And on that night,
She died.
She stormed out cold, bitter.
A recollection of thoughts presumed against a shot glass stained with breath.
A half empty bottle, the oldest laments sung by a repeating record.
Empty hands that ache to smile. Once again fearing the troubles of the world.
On that night I heard the last of her voice.
A tantrum of sorts ranting about the severity
Of deep need, languishing in thought.
I miss her, deep down I do.
The troubled thoughts that haunt the realm of what if's and what could be's.
I slowly watched these thoughts fade into the rearview.
Driving off, not knowing it would be the last time I'd see you.
Sober thoughts that seek release against a glass, stained with breath.
That night, the world became cruel.
A bit colder.
Shoulders that hunched with the slightest motion.
That night every red light seemed to catch me.
That night, I hated you, I swear I did.
Spoiled rotten by the touch of your hand.
The passenger seat no longer filled with her essence.
The smile that eased every fear that presented it's self with the look of her eye.
I hated her, I swear I did.
On that night she died,
Without proper cause, the reality of a sudden heart attack
Where are the words that reconcile ease of random thoughts.
Did we take turns pissing in the wind.
Her and I.
Were we too scared to taste the bittersweet chill of loneliness.
Later on that night, she died.
And I have no idea to wash away the fear she left me with.