Youthful 07/01/02 in poems

I walked over to the car
and asked her
“are you feeling alright?”
“yes, but I need to lay down, do you mind?”

Taking her hand, light and soft
The bed is made upstairs
The path is marked by the light
Reflected off the pebbles

Tripping, stumbling until she couldn’t
walk; fumbling with the door
The door, crackling off the hinges,
squeaking, needing to be oiled

“Can you make it up the stairs?”
Without reply, I take her lazy arm
around my shoulder and begin

We turn and continue the climb,
turning left; the room is last door on the left
“Follow the light”

She trips, stumbles, fumbles her way
Squinting in the shining light
Brilliant to the ill
Falling on the bed, passing out without
a clue; she is done