We sang “Killing Me Softly” in the rotating restaurant.
We burst our lungs, spun and floated above Arlington, defense, and democracy.
When the number was through you kept repeating how harmonious we were.
I shrugged, injured by the notion of a karaoke triumph...
...at the thought I was deft in easy amusement.
Imitating Roberta Flack.
Leading up to the explosion it was just you, the plain, ambitious you;
aloof and salivating for failure.
Stoking convention, ordering an overpriced chicken breast and a Budweiser.
You were a Pavlovian child, one who ran to my fingers when I lit cigarettes,
fluffed my dreams when they were unfitting.
When we left you felt needed.
When I left I felt the cherry blossoms three miles away, crying to open.
Pleading to the monuments for spring.
fiction poetry "fact" photography