I don't care for

"when the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie"

dean martin's voice booms throughout the house

as I lay on the living room couch

basking in heat from the wood-stove

to the tune of an over saturated

when I was thirteen 

and scared of real life

I gave out advice like candy

showering my friends with hope

and watched them grow 

like sunflowers 

out of a cold, dark earth 

We lie tired 

Bundled up in puffers and scarves 

On the pleather seats of the bus that feels like home. 

You rummage through your red lunchbox, 

Unpacking each item carefully