the good life

We've lived like squatters

For a couple days

At her friends' house

While they are away on vacation

And the bed squeaks

And the blinds keep the afternoon

Looking as young

As 6 a.m.



"You need to stop talking

about money,"



She tells me.



"We don't have it...

We want it.

And someday,

With a little luck,

We'll have it.

But until we do,

We don't need to sit around

And talk about

How we still don't have it."



I smile,

And wrap my arm around her

In another couple's bed

As the rain and frost mix and slop

All over main street

And I debate this poem

Between each strand

Of auburn hair.





ryan torres (Lebanon, PA, 1987)