POEM: i am a fun guy, no really,

Published on 23 October 2023 at 15:04

i am a fun guy, no really,

you say, and do you feel

                                           what i feel?

                   to be honest—

i don’t.

 

i see colors i have seen

                                           before

                                                         i breathe the air

that you have breathed.

 

i will no longer speak to you in two months.

                       you say

                                                               you’re not 

                                          feeling well.

 

i say, has anyone

                               ever

felt well?

                 and what i mean is: remember me.

 

remember what i am saying. Please.

i can see, at the edge of the woods,

                                     there is a man

                                                     crying toward us.

 

he is not there.

                           i turn and watch him move to us

in spirals anyway,

                               and i tell him it’s all right. 

 

i do not believe he is there.

                                                i never have.

my brain is full of holes filled 

                                           with familiar, loose sand. 

 

you will no longer speak to me in two months.

                                                                                   you have moved

                                                                                                                                                    far away.

 

i say,

paul mccartney’s album ram

is a seminal album

and i love every song i’ve heard.

 

                                                          you say i should play the fleet foxes again.

i see the road underneath us

                                                    turning to water.

i see us walking across it like the insects that can do the same.

 

my fingers

                     are callused

                                           and you grip the pads of them

with your own.

 

i do not play fleet foxes again

on the bluetooth speaker

you’ve attached to your bag

with a scarred carabiner and a prayer.

 

i will no longer speak to you in two months.

              i will make digital playlists

              with songs colored green and yellow.

i will listen to them and stare at my white popcorn ceiling.

 

maybe i will cry.

 

                                   you will fall asleep

on your loud plastic

                                   couch. i will stare at you sleeping

and bite into an apple i stole from your kitchen.

 

and i will insist on leaving first.

i will smile

                   toothlessly

into the light dark night as i go.

Add comment

Comments

L&H
8 months ago

Great poem! We love "crying towards up" and "smile toothlessly." L loves the spacing. H is more of a flush left line kinda guy. H's social security number is personal.

Your friends,
L & H