And here’s to where we died this time last year

I used to hate our episodic summers entangled in the Burbs.

Stuck in the middle of Mediocre, New Jersey

no breeze to keep us sane

stewing in our sweat

no car to drive us away

ass sticking to the last seat on the NJ Transit train.

The provocation hung heavy-

so heavy it nullified the humidity in the air

and breed our lack of giving a fuck and ill humor.

I swore it had me drunk half of the time

along with that never ending supply of tallboys

and vodka infused Quick Check cups.

The sunrise never ceased

we’d watch in vacant lots

melt in the morning brilliance

while every shade of your eye color

was exposed and new freckles where born

that’s when the weed would be most fragrant

and ambush time into foreign terms.

Down the shore

the beach was an indulgence we took full advantage of

counting stars, sipping on the five a.m. sun,

we used to exhale our disposition

assuming we’d add a touch more to the morning due.

Now I can’t ignore this inclination to smother myself with

that muggy-Jersey air, cheap beer

and even cheaper thrills.