It’s like a big cold tree.
And this is who you are.
And this is all you know.
You cannot keep your britches up.
And the Morton Salt Girl is singing with the band,
and your sister sleeps soundly, dreaming her
14 year-old dreams, and you decide,
she must wake up, and skip off
with you to steal flowers, and she does.
It’s like waking up on blue carpet, that
matches some your Grandma had
years ago.
And you can smell the cigarettes and whiskey and coke.
And you can hear the ice clinking and the lungs coughing.
You wake up, and there is a giant empty plastic half gallon.
Not half full, but all the way empty.
That bottle is a crystal palace, and if you drink enough, you can built a castle.
It’s like dying your hair with cleaning products and vodka,
And fishing coins out of the fountain.
It’s like refusing to wear your leather coat in the winter.
Just dragging that coat behind you, like a pet.
I miss that pet, it was always there.
Because a sleeveless shirt is enough to keep you warm
when you are surrounded by people you love.
Who love you.
Who like to laugh.
Who watch your back.
As long as you need.
It’s like the family on Earth extends beyond blood.
Beyond common sense.
And we all play and run around and spin.
Together.
With bruises and black eyes.
And spraypaint.
See you next time.