The Update 4/11/23

Friends

I built one once,

out of meals and pints,

new recipes and boardgames.

Late nights and weekends,

I tinkered and worked,

crafting a memory.

Tracing a smile to greet me,

sanding a shoulder to cry on,

discovering a barking cackle.

I built my friend,

even as he built me.

Going Back

I returned to old houses,

stiff, formal, uninvited.

The scent of memory perfumed by another,

the seats rearranged,

the paintings all wrong.

I chatted, reminisced,

lied like I knew this place,

this doll house where I played at old happiness.

I dutifully commented on rooms,

I cooed over forgotten junk,

I cried through a smile at this well-intentioned desecration.

Sunday

Sunday ends in an alleyway,

wandering through now golden streets.

Following the scent of cinnamon.

the rustle of fresh pastry,

the warmth of habit.

We’ll sit on an empty stall,

bags down and feet up,

watching crowds pass and stop.

Sharing our Sunday snack,

a bun a little way from home.

Painful

Do people remember the holes they punch in your life?

Or do they brush dust from their boots,

wipe your blood from their knuckles,

and forget you’d even fallen?

Conversation

So what you could-,

yes it’s got to be,

No but there’s no way-,

It’s settled can we move

to the details?

Officials

You cuss like you’ve never been hit,

like there’s always been backup.

You sit in meetings,

laughing at people you’ve never met,

ruining lives you’ll never see.

The sum doesn’t end in your eyeline.

You just write out your numbers,

and calculate your cut.

You won’t see people bleeding.

Clean hands making dirty choices,

marked by nothing but careless biro scars