I Could Be Okay


If this was all I needed to get me through the day,
this stinging, bitter puddle with a cardboard lid and taste,
I think when it came down to it, that I could be okay.
But I can't help compare it to the mug of dingy grey
ceramic at the diner where we'd stay, feeling as
if this was all I needed. To get me through the day.
I remember your hair in my lap where your head lay-
you across cheap, familiar cushions of our fav'rite booth.
I think when it came down to it, that I could be okay.
Because the round, brown analog hung much too far away,
we'd check phones for time. Each refill'd jerk my lashes, as
if this was all I needed to get me through the day.
Dark and smooth and strong, I love the pure, unaltered way
it felt upon my tongue. The rest you'd drink, just for laughs,
I think, when it came down to it. I could be okay.
Tonight a tiny bracket mimics the grin on your face;
the goodnight-silent but not wordless-staves off my
what if? This was all I needed to get me through the day.
I think when it came down to it, that I could be okay.

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