The stars came out at midnight,

a faded milk blot in the sky like a fist,

by then we were three-fourths to the way drunk,

gathered on the hill behind the school,

shivering, chattering like mad thieves,

about how we had scored, carrying our egoes,

waiting for the apocalypse, we might have been

talking about Jesus, like apostles huddled in a room,

hiding like outlaws.