Harvard Place

Do you remember the night

we walked home

from that bar we shouldn’t have gone to

because that guy who used to call you

Beautiful while sleeping with other girls

and mimicking sweet nothings to them

as they were nothing

worked there on some weekends

and we all know how you still act when

you see him and you’ve had too much gin

punching him in the arm like an old teammate

while lighting up those baby blues

hoping he would sink into them

long enough for him to be the one to drown for once

But we went anyway

since we both needed a night out

away from tinder and snapchat stories

because Keith’s was on special there that night

and that bartender was cute

and the open mic was always something to see

and after a record three pitchers between us two girls

we strutted towards home

dizzy with insights

thirsty for water and our bright futures that were surely waiting for us

after we graduated like good Catholic school girls

We felt secure, happy, unrestricted

remembering that one night that shall not be remembered

laughing into the night air about how foolish we were

and how young we felt the nights we danced at Phil’s

feeling limitless with layers of black eyeliner so thick

you could still wear them the next day to your shitty retail job’s 3 hour shift

and how old we felt moving into cream coloured dorm rooms

rooms that were once just hallways

bricked off to create space while taking space

and so we walked

singing the songs that were stitched into our hearts

like patches on a jean jacket

singing of broken hearts and girls named Eileen with fat bottoms

and about halfway through our second round

the night sky opened up and reigned down on us

So we were soaked in chilling rain

in a moment of exhilarating youth

like the first time you run through the sprinkler every summer

(“and we were infinite”)


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