It was that kind of night when your ankles itched so bad
that you didn’t know if it was bug bites, poison ivy, or an allergic
reaction to the antibiotic you were on for a bladder infection
that you never should have had in the first place.
It was that kind of night when you went to your mom’s to borrow
hydrocortisone cream and you dragged her to come out to see
the full moon with you rising up over the lake like a big flood light
and you brought Gummi bears to share from the gas station.
It was that kind of night when the gas station attendant left the register
for just a minute to talk to her ex outside and she saw a regular customer
bend over to pick something up off the ground near the pumps. A debit card.
And when she looked you up in the phone book, she was amazed to find you.
It was that kind of night when you were so tired and itchy, you were
going to ignore the blink on the phone machine and just get in bed
with your Gummi bears, but you thought better of it, and you went
right back out without taking time to put on the anti-itch cream.
And when you got there, she said, oh it’s you! And right then, you knew
to be glad to live in a place with that kind of night, and you vowed
to stop fretting the small stuff or any perceived lack of anything
because that kind of night doesn’t happen to just anyone anywhere.