I hate leaving

Five hours before the road, I'm sipping another scotch and waiting for, oh I don't know. "Mind those nails on the deck," I wrote in the guest book. And it's not five hours, it's 15; not scotch but half a Diet Coke. Waiting (a word I didn't notice until now was so close to writing) for my friend to show up, and not with someone else. The window's dirty but the view is clean. I've got to get out of here before I imagine a love poem