Driving to a Mexican Joint with Fraternity Brothers a Week Before Graduation

Five of us sit in the windy bed of an old Ford truck
on our way to a place we have been before but will not be again 
where we will drink too much bad tequila
until our eyes seal themselves in filmy almost-tears once more

In seconds of silence between words our smiles flatten
without our noticing of it 
and our eyes are turned from each other 
towards the tailgate away from the sun
just before the silence breaks

Worn yellow lines trees tall and short 
leftover light that sneaks through branches littered Pabst cans
all sink into a single golden point
that buries itself in dim flickers
always there and gone in
the same way that I am here but not the same
as when I was there inside that sparkling mote
a bright period at the end of a long sentence.

This will all be over soon  

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