The Encore

Everyone's mouth was open.

The singer came back out and I was holding

a plastic cup of warm beer—

the cup gone soft, the foam already

deciding this was over.

A friend leaned over and said something.

I felt breath. Not the word.

I laughed.

My mouth made the shape of laughing

and nobody looked

and I knew it was empty—

the way you know a room is cold

before the thermostat admits it.

That's the part I keep:

not the loneliness itself,

I know that one, I have it

on weeknights—

but how easy it was,

how I stood in the middle

of people I chose,

the lights going red, the bass

coming up through the floor,

everyone somewhere inside the song,

and me just in my coat pocket,

just a hand,

watching the cups.