Get Out Of Here

I walked down
through the burning cars
along your street
I sat and wrote
your name with my finger
on the concrete
your voice was still
and crisp in my ear
«my dad’s a cop,
so you’d better get out of here»
I turned down
a familiar street
and the houses swayed
I remembered
walking with you
and suddenly I felt afraid
you stood your feet
in the drain and said
«when you yell I die»
and the implications hurt my head
and so the cops found me
that night in the park
I was drunk and tripping through the dark
i’d carved a tree
with your name and mine
and the sentiment of cheap red wine