Poem ofthe Day

Burnt Out
By Brad Johnson

I point out Orion's belt
but you've still got your gas station sunglasses on.
You're like a dead star whose light reaches us millennia after its
___final fizzle.
It's summer and Orion's a winter constellation anyway.

You've still got your gas station sunglasses on
and haven't said a word since I picked you up.
It's summer. I know Orion's a winter constellation
but I look for it whenever the night is clear.

You haven't said a word since I picked you up.
On the porch, a candle flame leaps from its wick in the
wind.
I looked for you whenever my nights were clear
and now you're here, lifting your leg, tugging your shorts from
___your crotch.

A candle flame on the porch leaps from its wick in the wind
and a star shoots through the sky like the lit match you toss into
___night
before lifting your leg to tug your shorts out of your crotch
while claiming "If something's worth doing once, it's worth doing
___twice."

A star shoots through the sky like the lit match you tossed into
___night.
We're both like dead stars whose light reaches earth millennia after they've
___fizzled
but maybe you're right. If it's worth doing once, it might be worth
___doing twice.
So I point out Orion's belt.