A Tool of My Envy

This morning I danced
On the dirty clothes
Of yesterday.
As if to stamp out
The visions of her eyes.
As if to stamp out
The sounds of her laugh.

She was a tattered girl,
Long in the legs
Inked like newspaper.
Time was all together stilled
By the way she moved.
As though her presence
Was an accident.
I lingered on her display
For it felt like an event.
A future story for the grandchildren
As you sit sipping cider
In your recliner.

It quickly went
From 10 PM to 2 AM.
And the music faded
Into afterbar voices.
And I swear,
The lights came on
And she disappeared.
Just a ghost for my amusement.
A spirited tool for my envy.

At home,
Sleep came suddenly.
The alcohol was tucking itself in.
And now morning
Is where I dwell.
Somber,
Mystified,
Haunted.