Excerpts from the collection of poetry entitled Losing My Brotherhood

First Attempt

Under some patchwork quilt that used to get used at the beach

you laid with me wondering if I would see you again.

As you turned on your side, some old sand fell

onto your naked arms

ironically showing me the swift fall of time

and your attention grew divided.

With both a record player and TV flickering and

playing in the background

a song I had never heard by a band that wouldn’t matter,

I said this, and you said I was angry cause

you were leaving in an hour

and to just be still and enjoy this moment.

I tried to be still but your breathing engaged me to pursue

another moving line

that hid under your muffled drum of breathing.

I threw a few nice words out under the cover

in time with an old alarm clock that helped you drift

to sleep, and my words did the same,

you just went.

I seemed to think I knew everything about you,

you didn’t know anything about me

you didn’t need to

Me And Us In The Dark

 you stopped the raid

torch in hand

breathing heavily

like someone who cared

some dress you slipped on

ruffled my feathers

who did it come from

I pretended not to know

I knew how the Indians felt

intruders at the shore

and now I was in trouble

a double dose of adrenaline

the other woman walked in

the lights turned on

I was alone

they both fled arm in arm

I was in the wrong room again

drunk in the dark

River Sister

 the river flowed against my weeping leg scarred

like the memories you once gave me

the reed’s coarse hairs split the tension and dread

always ending up here with the passing gives me hope

that things change and sometimes pass,

I just want to see my sister dancing

the ledge of the banks is my helping hand,

our grandfather carved them out with his spade,

he never wanted you in the deep sand

the restlessness of my nature is true,

especially here in mirrored nature,

you lean and grow with every planted yew

I’m cold and numb inside this young river,

and I’ll meet you here soon come the summer,

 you grow and I’ll be the one to wither.

The Things I Did And Do

I dropped some cigarette ash on your neatly cut hair

I made your morning coffee slightly cold

I wept at films that you deemed too bold

and pretended I didn’t need subtitles.

These are the things I do to make you flinch

I played Bach at a higher speed on the record player

I pretended it was broken when you picked out Van Morrison

 I sang harmonies to every line when you fixed it

and dragged my feet when you asked me to change sides.

 This is what I do to annoy you

I poured Starbucks into your independent coffee store cup

 I lied about my mother’s age and said I was adopted

 I read you Pablo Neruda when you picked out Frost

 and changed the words around and made them all about summer.

 This is what I do to confuse you

I never let you help me with the morning crossword

 I went on walks for hours and didn’t call

 I drank myself into such rich stupors I couldn’t stand

 and lied about the trivial shit.

 This is what I do because I am a bastard

I watch you sleep and block the morning light out of your eyes

 I cook your favorite meal three nights a week

even though I’m allergic

 I listen to your friends talk about their friends

I stopped going to the bar.

Just because