I feel like singing “Memories” and that people who need people song.
He wears Chucks with holes in the heel and the side plastic.
He’s gonna to be an anesthesiologist because they make the most money.
He sings on the low pavement,
And sings the verses I know twice,
So I’ll sing with him,
And play with the curls of his brown hair
And flip his glasses up from the ends behind his ears.
This was before he fell asleep,
Fell asleep next to my blonde friend.
I wear sweatpants that are too big
So I can feel small,
Instead of having a football player give me a hug.
If my brother died –
I’ve made a plan for it.
That way I felt a little something today, a little grief.
I would first call to confirm.
Then call my boss’s boss. The one that hired me.
Then I’d get in my car,
Put my seatbelt on.
And drive west. West until I ran out of road.
I’d pull over at a Waffle House.
Order a cup of coffee,
Look as dredged as everyone else in there.
And stare down into a filmed over stained mug.
Until I started crying.
The “young punk” who lives with his mom underneath my apartment,
Played a song I recognized over his loud speakers,
Or he was blasting out his laptop’s speakers, who knows,
So I found that song in my music bank,
Synced it up to the second mark,
And blared it along with him.
How stilted am I?
The only escape I can imagine is driving my car far,
and coming back in the early morning, gone nowhere,
just running for a little while.