Jopo

It was the night before I left
and we’d come back from that
roof-top oceanside bar, both
gotten a kick out of Jeff, living
out of his car, doing anything
to surf — look at those walls, man! —
I don’t know if this was
before the tequila and weezer songs
or after.  I couldn’t get drunk.
We crashed in rooms
opposite sides of the hall
and talked from one to the next.
For twenty minutes, maybe.
I don’t remember what we talked about.
I don’t remember getting up to close the door.