The details always the same.
Salt wind tearing at his jacket.
Bootheels dug deep
in the chain-link. The two doses
slipped under his tongue
at a friend of a friend’s party
slipped under his tongue
at a friend of a friend’s party
and the coming to
blinking at a half-lit stretch
of the Long Island Expressway.
blinking at a half-lit stretch
of the Long Island Expressway.
He would call me down
into the bachelor pad he made
of our basement—ratty couch,
into the bachelor pad he made
of our basement—ratty couch,
knob-dial Sharp, mini-fridge
he bartered a tiling job for
stocked with Narragansett—
he bartered a tiling job for
stocked with Narragansett—
and tell me again about the fence,
the wind, the semis pitching
into the night.
the wind, the semis pitching
into the night.
Even then I didn’t believe him.
