an answer looking for a question

gone a real walk with my pretend fiance and our pretend dog.
saw the real moon
and what may or may not have been
a falling star.
it could have been space debris.
but is there anything more romantic than out-dated russian satellites
spinning unexpected fire through the atmosphere?
my pretend fiance doesn't think so.
she told me to make a wish,
so i did.

now i'm wondering, was that wish pretend or for real?

we are all star stuff

sometimes, each one of us is just a lonely teenager.
there isn't much we can do about it,
it's human
and we're human
and that's all.
its why we have oldies radio stations
and 24-hour diners
glowing at night
like radioactive mushrooms.
it's why we all love 50's cars
and saxophones
and four-part
harmony.

but really,
in every moment
we are lonely teenagers.
and we are shaky grandparents.
and we are newborn babies,
and we are all of the everythings-in-between.
the only thing we are not
is
non-existant.

“the old records never had drums,” she said. i turned my head to the side, like i do when i want her to teach me one of her lovely little lessons. it's amazing. she knows everything that i don't.
“the recording... disc... acetane, maybe, the master needle would bounce up and down with the drums. so they used cardboard boxes and stuff.”
she was always half right. but it was always the good half, the honest half,
the half that i needed to know.
“let's drive to new york. we can listen to oldies the whole way,
and only stop for apple pie and coffee.”
she always had great ideas, too. only, we didn't have a car. and if we did, we couldn't afford the gas to arizona. and we could only get her medicine in mexico.
“i won't run out. we'll be back before you know it.”
and with that she pushed me back onto the sofa,
and we forgot about new york and cars and arizona.