The Day After the Fourth of July
Oh, hi. Yes. Yes, it’s me. The one who stood on a stage in a strip bar and karaoked Aerosmith’s “I don’t want to miss a thing” to all those stripper women and the big guys beside the liquor and the stupid boys who look like me and pointed out to all of them and said “forevvverr anndd evvverrr” and sent the crowd swinging and connected them in a slow dance and shed tears at the climax and imagined joe perry right there strumming and threw out a hand to pull topless Chloe up with me and waltzed and waltzed and waltzed like tomorrow wasn’t really Monday and told her so and told her it doesn’t ever have to be, that we could just stay here and picture sunshine and angels and salted snacks, and that there are no last notes, just people who don’t hit repeat. Yes, yes, yes. Can I do something for you? Can I fucking do something for you?