194/365

almost forget the poem
tonight- 11:19pm.
meant to play golf with the guys
the whitest most masculine
thing possible.
bloody mary roadie ready to go,
but the rain had other plans.
a few pints,
clear ice cocktails,
scorched cinnamon
garnish and arab street.  
we talked about marriage
and youth and middle age-
a male vulnerability
that feels safe.
and in the end
this is all the remains.
feels like enough.
we know what
we discussed.