Street Fight

What it was that filled me,
                                        filled me entirely.
The only space left
                            was inside my fists.

They came alive with me, as a window
comes alive with a sudden,
                                        human shape.

And I hurled myself against that fucker
who before
                  was my friend, who again

is my friend. Above us,
                                    the overpass
seethed with the arriving breakers

of tires, and when a car
                                    rolled past
it honked and cheered us on. And when

I fell, the pavement confettied
                                              my palms,
and I slipped from my hands

so they became useless. Our shouting
shuttled between us

like a piston. And then
                                  we were parched;
I found our bottle where I'd left it

by the mailbox,
                        and that was the end of it.
Except this lip, this knuckle.
                                          —And you,

who watched from the windowdark,
dialtone
            pressed to your ear. Which

of our words spilled into the pillow
beside you? What
                            crisscross of circles

lapped at your sleep?

Copyright © 2007 Wayne Miller All rights reserved
from Barn Owl Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission