Somewhere in Montana

When I’m old,
like the man unfolding a wheelchair
alongside a minivan
and helping his wife out of the rear sliding door,
I want to look up at the balcony of a hotel
at two young people,
one smoking and drinking a beer
the other wearing a rancher hat and drinking a beer,
and have no regrets.
To never think of time wasted
or good times not had
or loved ones who never knew your feelings.
I’ll nod to the girl in the rancher hat
and turn into the fading blue/pink/purple haze
of the smoky twilit night.