soup

zebras
micah still has all the same posters from college.
“getting them framed cost a fortune,” he says.
is this what being an adult is to him?
although, to his credit,
there is one thing hanging above his television
that i don’t recognize.
it’s a picture of a zebra outrunning a lion.
micah says he’d always wanted a picture of a zebra
and hadn’t even noticed what the zebra was doing,
will always be doing.
the only thing he saw in it:
the zebra looked like it didn’t want to be photographed.
he’s still waiting on the frame to come in.

lately, i’ve been putting myself in situations like this,
spending less time making new friends
and more time catching up with old ones.
i don’t know how well i do with either of them, frankly.

we sit down on his new living room set
and have a drink.
then, we talk for a little while.
he says this:
“adam, i don’t think i’ll ever be able to accept death.
sure, i can look forward to turning into a wonderful old man,
to knowing myself and what i know inside and out,
but everything after that is going to be horrible for me.”

i nod, but only because i feel the same way.

the hawk
my gut was filled with an awful feeling
that this time– wait. you know what?
the backstory, to be honest,
is irrelevant here.

you do need to know this, though:
i needed to feel better
than i was feeling,
and the only thing that could
make me feel better
was a hawk.

jody, a spiky-haired guy
who used to live in my parents’ building,
had one.
when we were younger
(younger than i remember us being),
we’d use the hawk to send notes to girlfriends.

i made the phone call,
and we caught up a little.
he was doing pretty well for himself.

the next day, after i got out of work,
we went up to his roof
with this gorgeous bird of his,
its wings spanning like a motherfucker
while it rested on my arm.
i handed the hawk a note–
something i would never let anyone read,
told it to “get the hell out of here,”
and off it went.
the wings on this creature!
the nerve of it!

when jody’s hawk returned an hour later,
there was a crushed mouse in its beak
and a proud look on its face,
but i didn’t know what to say to that.
my note to no one in particular was gone.

by the time i returned home,
it was after midnight,
so i kicked off all my clothes
right there in the living room.
later, i would go up to my bedroom
and lay flat on my back in bed–
the bed where a family was started,
mistakes were made–
and the foot of it,
where our dog,
that lazy labrador retriever,
would sleep.
all day!

[edited]

dishes
i did the dishes last night
for the first time in a long time.
it only took me ten minutes,
but those ten minutes
took me months.

today, being what it is
to quote my favorite author:
“who isn’t mentally retarded
these days?”

so fucking BRD

since anthony’s been working hard writing new things, i’ve decided to help out too by recycling old things i’ve found from unknown sources. someone keep an eye on this kid though coz he’s going places:

for a while aka hiatus.

ray charles
someone in the hallway is telling
a small audience
that iceberg lettuce is made
entirely from frozen water.
i’m at my desk, listening,
working on my ray charles impression.
“really?” no one says.

drug novels
i’m tired.
very tired.
this leaves me two options:
start drinking coffee again
or sleeping more.
i have to, so i choose
the better of the two.
in other words, i put a pot on
and stare off into space,
knowing myself well.
knowing that i will
never give up
my late nights
or early mornings.