It’s late in a long day.
You know the ones.
A few aches and pains are emerging:
the backing is starting to show through the pile.
Something wants to be slept off,
rebooted,
allowed to lose its way,
permitted to dissolve,
misplaced, or forgotten.
That’s when Hafiz drops by
unannounced,
bubbly as a mountain spring, says,
“Wanna’ go dancing?”

Eyes roll…
“You kidding me?”

“Well,” he says,
“it just seemed
like
you were starting
to take this
seriously…
And you know I
hate to see you this way.”

“Look, I’d love to, but…
it’s late…
I did a blahdy-bleep-blaht
lotta’
‘S’
‘H’
‘I’
‘T’
today, and-
Frankly,
I’m just beat.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he says.