the sadness as we become strangers

they say phoenix is
an oven,
around the 4th
of july.

this parking lot
is hell,
and there ain't a damn
thing anybody can do
about this.

she arrives
with her daughter.
we smoke a cigarette
like zombies,
not really knowing what
to say,

we stare at whatever
is in front of us
and all i know
is that my brain
keeps getting in
the way.

people are walking past us
with their red,
white, and blue
cookies.

her daughter
is reading her book.

we sign the papers
saying
that our account is
seperated.

bobby,
the banker
keeps a respectful distance.

the divorce is finalized.
a future that won't be
is carried by the
wind
back to the heavens.

her daughter and i hug
one last time,
she kisses me
one last time.

and i hold her,
like i'm tattooing
my heart
in her chest.
i never want
to leave that little girls
grip.
ever.

we divide
in opposite directions,
walking back to
our cars.

if i look back
i know
they'd be able
to hear each and
every tear drop
hit the concrete.

i just wanted to wait
till i got in the car.

it is on this day that
i drowned myself
in a safeway
parking lot.