1984

we clink

glasses together. full of ice

and booze.

the lights are low.

the music

is familiar.

al green

on a vinyl platter

spinning

gently on the stereo.

the rug

is an orange shag,

the hot tub bubbles

outside

the sliding glass door.

it's 1984

all over again.

i'm chad 

with a silk shirt

emblazoned with sailboats

and she's buffy

with big hair

and shoulder pads.

all that's missing is

a few lines of coke

and a rolled up hundred

dollar bill,

the po po banging

at the door.