Garden Lounge

by Patrick Granger

Chapter 1

Neon lights bloom along the walls,
a glow that keeps its distance from my eye.
I stopped here, because the road no longer calls,
and every exit looks like an alibi.

I showed them her picture, folded with care.
They laugh, mock the clever blur trick.
Why can’t they see her standing clearly there?
I nod, as if I know what makes it slick.

I think about the stage, the mic, the wire–
The way her voice made room for mine to stand.
I could see us playing there, where lights couldn’t conspire
to tell us what the ending had planned.

The phone inside still hums when nights are wrong.
It almost rings with echoes of our song.