you were the preacher's son
(how fucking perfect)
and of course, the snow couldn't leave
the Spring alone. mud-stained
and piled in parking lots overdue
to truck-haul off: May deadline.
you were skinny, and kind of mean, actually.
you stood me up, blew me off, twice
at least. The "ugly sweater" Christmas
party--you never called, and black-holed
my invite for dancing. this before
the coffee mug of Jack-and-coke
and your joint, hot light in the long winter undone
that, even mid-March, wouldn't leave us alone.
You were short with me: gravel voice
clipped sentences and your turned down mouth
for a mind aisled, altared, pewed
at my sighing speech. Anyway
two black and tans and one lung later
later you got gentle. and i fell
for it.
Next days I was angst to hate you. you
skipped town, but two weeks between
and ignoring me.
"Jesus Christ!" and still
no answer.
I never got my green coffee mug
back either. and it had my name on it, too.
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