For Michael

smoking by the tailgate,
i looked at your truck
and i noticed
that the paint was perfect
--except for one small chip near the handle.
and i noticed
that there were
two cigarette butts (Pall Mall Blues)
in the truck bed,
and when you pointed them out to me later
i pretended like i hadn't seen them before
so you wouldn't think i was weird.
and i noticed
your license plate had blue letters
and i said them over and over
to myself so i'd remember it.
and i noticed
the bradford pear trees molting
next to the driveway
that i'm sure you powerwashed
(you confirmed that for me a few seconds later)
and the puddles of rain water
and flicks of ashes
and lazy smoke tendrils
twirling towards the sky.

i looked at you
and i noticed
that a wrinkle was forming
between your eyebrows

and i knew then
that i'd missed the moment
but i was too busy
trying to notice
every detail
so i could write this poem.