The men and women on the street 
are cheering and blowing those
things like kazoos that go 
by a different name. Some 
people are stuck in their 
cars for the fireworks display,
sitting helplessly in rows 
while the excitement happens
elsewhere. My cat is 
startled by the firecrackers,
his ears back, tucking down
his whole body and then 
jumping to the windowsill to 
see what can be seen. He’s
on the other side of the fireplace 
from us, where we’re doing the
same thing, 12 stories up, with
buildings blocking the view. 
I can’t tell if we’re glad to 
see the new year enter or
happy the old one is done. 
I hurt you, just trying to 
love, and you hurt me just
trying to be. We’ve done 
this, eighteen years now. 
I want your hand but
can’t find it. Maybe this
is the year we find each 
other, glancing over dinner
and seeing something new
we’ve seen a thousand times
before. I miss you when we
eat apart, at the same table. 

(Sometimes I really do try not to be too
Abstract)