perennially happy hour

it's hard to let go of things.

we become sentimental

about the big chair,

with the stuffing coming

out, popped springs.

it's where you watched

so many games,

fell asleep in

and spilled drinks.

it's the chair you

tossed shoes from

at the tv,

or towards an ex-wife

giving you hell 

for leaving

the seat up again.

and then there's

bent forks

and spoons in

the kitchen drawer.

all the meals you had

with them,

slurping

canned chili and soups,

ignoring the stains.

the chipped cups you 

drank from.

all those

martinis you made in coffee

mugs.

that clock on the wall,

broken,

stuck forever

on five o'clock, perennially

happy hour.