New-ish Poem.
Some of you might recognize this from a Facebook note I put up the other day. Edits and suggestions welcome. Still untitled.
I.
When you took me to the comic book shop,
You introduced me, proudly, as your "good buddy's wife",
You were asked to take me out for a good time.
I batted my eyelashes and arched one quizzical corner of my smile
At the store clerk, who quickly turned to the rear counter.
Glossy lips wrapped around a too-cliché lollipop,
I hoped they’d all ache for me.
I pictured the afternoon as a Technicolor frame,
Our words bold and black in bright white bubbles.
My fingertips skimmed thin pages
Just as I would gently caress a new lover.
I bent over to examine a rack of collectibles near a collective
Of boys in Star Wars t-shirts whose eyes
Quickly darted away from my ass or tits
As I stood again.
I called it Nerd Public Service,
And you grinned like a fool,
And I wondered whose benefit am I really doing this for?
II.
Thumbs press firmly to shoulder blades,
I gasp,
Not expecting the pain.
There,
You say. That’s the spot there.
Fingers work muscle and sinew
Returning them to their right places.
If you told me now
You wanted to undress me
I’d say yes.
III.
Philadelphia is post-apocalyptic at this time of night,
Smokestacks’ ominous glow in the distance
As we speed away from the city limits, fleeing the intangibles.
At the movies, I saw you cry. You think I didn’t notice.
In moments like this, I’m not usually sure how to relate to you.
Typically we would ride in silence while words build up
In my throat, so dense they nearly choke me
And I never let them out.
But these months have been trying, and neither of us
Can seem to find a job, what we do find
Is each other on these platonic date night evenings.
The buildings disappear behind hillsides,
We pass into the vast blackness of the no-man’s-land of route 76.
My heart decides to lay itself bare,
Anything to escape this dank midnight air.
You are the first friend I share it with:
My father is dying, and there is nothing I can do.
Everyone thought my AIDS-riddled Uncle would be
The first in my family to go, but he recovered
And my seemingly indestructible Dad,
Survivor of two heart attacks, one at 47,
Would be cut down to nothing by cancer
In less than a year’s time.
You reply with the weight of my world
Contained in three syllables, “I’m so sorry.”
No one else’s apology would echo in my mind like this.
Whatever we were or weren’t
Whatever classification of friendship
Or love or not love or admiration or
What this was or wasn’t
Didn’t matter.
You were there.
And that was enough.
I.
When you took me to the comic book shop,
You introduced me, proudly, as your "good buddy's wife",
You were asked to take me out for a good time.
I batted my eyelashes and arched one quizzical corner of my smile
At the store clerk, who quickly turned to the rear counter.
Glossy lips wrapped around a too-cliché lollipop,
I hoped they’d all ache for me.
I pictured the afternoon as a Technicolor frame,
Our words bold and black in bright white bubbles.
My fingertips skimmed thin pages
Just as I would gently caress a new lover.
I bent over to examine a rack of collectibles near a collective
Of boys in Star Wars t-shirts whose eyes
Quickly darted away from my ass or tits
As I stood again.
I called it Nerd Public Service,
And you grinned like a fool,
And I wondered whose benefit am I really doing this for?
II.
Thumbs press firmly to shoulder blades,
I gasp,
Not expecting the pain.
There,
You say. That’s the spot there.
Fingers work muscle and sinew
Returning them to their right places.
If you told me now
You wanted to undress me
I’d say yes.
III.
Philadelphia is post-apocalyptic at this time of night,
Smokestacks’ ominous glow in the distance
As we speed away from the city limits, fleeing the intangibles.
At the movies, I saw you cry. You think I didn’t notice.
In moments like this, I’m not usually sure how to relate to you.
Typically we would ride in silence while words build up
In my throat, so dense they nearly choke me
And I never let them out.
But these months have been trying, and neither of us
Can seem to find a job, what we do find
Is each other on these platonic date night evenings.
The buildings disappear behind hillsides,
We pass into the vast blackness of the no-man’s-land of route 76.
My heart decides to lay itself bare,
Anything to escape this dank midnight air.
You are the first friend I share it with:
My father is dying, and there is nothing I can do.
Everyone thought my AIDS-riddled Uncle would be
The first in my family to go, but he recovered
And my seemingly indestructible Dad,
Survivor of two heart attacks, one at 47,
Would be cut down to nothing by cancer
In less than a year’s time.
You reply with the weight of my world
Contained in three syllables, “I’m so sorry.”
No one else’s apology would echo in my mind like this.
Whatever we were or weren’t
Whatever classification of friendship
Or love or not love or admiration or
What this was or wasn’t
Didn’t matter.
You were there.
And that was enough.