Apology

For fifty-six years I’ve pinned this photograph to the wall or taped it to the mirror.
Sometimes it’s buried in my wallet.
How I miss you.
Because it was Christmas, you wore a red velvet dress.
Because I was angry I wore black boxing shorts and a torn yellow shirt.
At the party, you laughed, smiled and flirted with me
as if I weren’t the biggest jerk around.
We both drank too much, I know that, but I drank until I couldn’t see.
Still, I heard – brakes squealing, shattering glass.
And. One. Shrill. Scream.

(94-words)