Ice Cream & Methadone

he took me to that early morning parking lot
filled with lost souls and half-empty cups
disappearing beneath the flash of a fluorescent light
as he opened the security door
coming back more awake than I had ever seen him
he brought a friend who took the wheel
so to Skid Row we went
to meet his man, who drove a black Cadillac
we did the junk in the back seat of his Honda
and his fellow patient drove us home
as we slurped on Jack in the Box single scoop
ice creams,
his was chocolate, mine vanilla
we pushed our cones together to create
a double drip flavor effect for each other
and then we both nodded off,
headed east back to the suburbs
our closed eyelids facing the fading skyline
of Los Angeles and its stacks of
orange smog cloud fuming scrapers
our bodies and brains fighting
for oxygen and the meaning of our lives
two extinguished cigarettes still
smoldering in half-eaten cones
two half-dead bodies baking underneath
the back shield waiting for