More Poems. Weird.

11Dec10

I started working on this as an extra credit assignment for one of my classes, but it’s actually starting to take shape. If it sounds kind of like something Frank O’Hara might write, that’s because it’s supposed to.

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In the spring we go dancing

I wear new clothes every night

And come home stinking of vodka in plastic bottles, shared cigarettes and near-death experiences on the Sunset Strip,

Only to toss jackets, skirts, jewelry I can’t be depended on to keep

Into the dark crumpled pile at the foot of my bed, out of place in daylight.

We witness Paris Hilton getting her DUI at Les Deux.

Courtney Love tells me she likes my coat at Hyde

Cory Kennedy, hipster wunderkind, lets me borrow her ID to get into Teddy’s.

We hold hands and run wasted through the streets

I’m exhilarated, losing my breath, this is the best time of my life.

This is my life. Forget college

Forget my parents, forget the roommates I left at home playing Nintendo and sharing a bottle of wine-

Forget it all!

We are too cool.

Throwing up wine in the bushes next to your car

We congratulate ourselves on our glamour.

Spinning wild like tops, we are rushing, rushing, rushing-

So intoxicated by the experience we forget that we are, in fact,

Intoxicated.

Night after night, I forget my keys.

We giggle climbing fences, breaking windows,

Screaming from the second story:

WE WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN.

Everyone hates us but we mistake it for jealousy

We scan gossip websites each afternoon over fried wontons

For pictures of us in the background at parties,

Being the people we think everyone wants to be.

It’s Halloween weekend, I haven’t heard from you in weeks.

I am in my mother’s kitchen crafting a bong out of a 2 liter bottle of Coke.

You call me, you want to visit.

I’m bewildered why you need to come here, now.

You tell me it’s now or never, and I tell you I have plans with a friend you do not like.

We hang up, and I get high.

November 7, 2009. I am at the beach.

Your friend Matthew calls. You love him, but I think he’s weird and refuse to answer.

Hours later, I am shaking sand out of my things in the late-season heat

Thinking only of air-conditioning and a nap.

Ryan O. calls, wanting to know if I’ve checked my Myspace lately.

What a dumb question, I think-no one uses Myspace anymore.

Then I notice his tone.

I ask what’s wrong, he says

“Call Sean”

And I know immediately. The buttons on my phone are wet

Slipping away from me as I try to place the call

He’s shopping for clothes for your funeral.

“He was trying to get better,” I hear distantly

“He checked into rehab the weekend after Halloween…his heart stopped…it’s too late.”

I can hear Sean (who I only met once, and was too drunk to remember)

Crying.

Shaking, sweating, I see spots and hear only static

As the world wheels drunkenly away from me.

It’s been three years.

I tried to keep you from slipping away from me

I made myself cry in the presence of wontons

I drank to the bottom every bottle

And then double-checked that you weren’t there

I refused to speak your name

to keep what was left of you inside me

And now, years later, I finally exhale, look around, and realize I’m the only one here.

 

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