Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Prophylactics Keep Us Clean

After daylight savings time
but before the first snowfall
night doesn’t last
so long as we’re up for it,
huddled close.

And life isn’t that bad
when spent in twin sized beds
with naked strangers. Sober
(“So long as your okay with it”) one
asks to hold my hand.

A whole season comes and ends
and said stranger becomes a friend
as a confusing haze dawns a question,
“So long as we’re both alone....”
A squalid love is formed.

And a year later, after I meet her family
I can’t stop seeing her mother while
she's on her back and coming hard.
“So long as you’re cool with it,” I ask
if she can start to straighten her hair

But our once pleasurable sex turns
vanilla at best and reaps sorrowful
results huddled close
(“So long as we work for it”) we agree,
something needs to change.

And then nothing begins to make sense.
And mascara stains twin sized beds.
And what ever happened to true romance?
“So long as we’re both upset,” she starts
and confesses she's three months pregnant.

How can it not?

After "Nothing changes, I suppose"
When he left to walk
into that oak door,
he left it half open
as if to welcome the rest of us
into the roomy comfort
of pictures, no regrets,
no age, no tired eyes,
no hangover mornings,
no embarrassing drunks.

We took note of the impact
face up, rain down
it was stupid
and stubborn
and selfish, right?

The night after we
tapped his forehead with
crucifix and sang
a couple of down-tempo songs
(echoing in the vaulted ceilings),
we armed ourselves
with strength in numbers
and drank, like Mitch had
that morning
before the funeral.

He went home early
and frequently
I think he was the only
one that really
got it.