Prompt: when the party's over
Birds chirp my sleeping ears awake
As I step toward the fire pit.
Early morning air cool in the lungs
Smells of smoke
As I look at the ring of chairs,
And empty cans around the fire pit.
I take one still-mostly-full can
And pour it onto the ashes,
Just to see them billow.
I notice my chair across the fire pit,
Empty like my day.
Time to fill it.