Page 19 of Crank (Crank 1)

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aching, and dreams,

fractured, injuries only

death could cure.

Have a nice vacation.

You too.

You relax.

You pretend to have fun.

You share a toast with me:

here’s to seasonal

madness, part-time

relatives and

substitutes for love.

The Prince of Albuquerque

June is pleasant in Reno,

kind of breezy and all.

I boarded the plane in

clingy jeans and a

long-sleeved T. Black.

It’s a whole lot hotter in Albuquerque.

I wobbled up the skywalk,

balancing heavy twin carry-ons.

Fingers of sweat grabbed

my hair and pressed it

against my face.

No one seemed to notice.

I scanned the crowd at the gate.

Too tall. Not tall enough.

Too old. Way too old.

There, with the sable hair,

much like my own.

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