we walk the empty neighborhood streets
against the cold, sharp wind -
none of us wants to get home.
I listen heedfully, he talks routine -
a frequent camouflage for his displeasure.
I should probably have written it down.
He would have liked it better,
to read an account of my anger and dismay
so he did not have to deal with my eyes.
It is a night of firsts:
First time I speak out -
I have a list, still manage to get lost.
First time he hugs me
like one is supposed to
hug a girl.
He lowers the guard
for the first time
and lets slip he fears I go away.