I used to work at a spot where the wait staff would squeeze the lemons at the table for guests. This old guy Tommy taught me how to “accidentally” squirt guests in the eye. I became a genius– no, a zest master, — no, a lemon superhero. Tommy told me to use my powers wisely. I didn’t listen. I don’t work there anymore.
So, Jennifer Keyser and David Tyler were together. I remembered watching David backstroke at the pool on Meade Street. He had back hair at the age of 12 and the largest and longest nipples I had ever seen. And, now he had Jennifer with her perfect teeth and smell of oranges. It’s probably just her soap. God, I wanted to punch David in the throat.
when you were young,
you were a Nazi.
you thought you were a soldier.
now at 88 years old,
are you still a Nazi?
the records, the maps,
they still hold your crime.
the mountains of glasses,
pulled gold fillings,
and bones are gone?
or do they weigh on your heart?
have you grown a heart?
how long will it beat freedom?
did it ever?
do we choose to hear your whispered apologies and explanations
over the din of her history’s echoes?
“Look at Mommy! Look at Mommy! Flying Mommies!”
“Look, Dylan, look. The waves are big here.”
“Look, it just isn’t working.”
Their words add to the cacophony chorus drowning my labored breathing as I run away again.
I woke up thinking of my momma last night.
I didn’t cry, I just listened to your breathing.
I wanted to call your name but it was late, and
you were up with me the night before.
I can’t remember her laugh.
The heavy meds won’t let me cry.
So, I pretend she had a mouth of lilacs
spurting out sweet smell laughter.
Grief lays between us.
So, you contracted Multiple Sclerosis, and it’s my fault.
I constantly tempted the karma forces by taking the tips others had left at restaurant tables next to me. I prompted the voodoo the night I cheated on you when you were tossing and turning in yet another sleep study. I spat at the Universe as I ripped all of the “do not rip” tags off of the over priced pillows at the new Pier One.
I, the constant fool, lived on the existential edge, but it was you who had been pushed off.
So, I blurted my confession to save you, to save love.
You threw the chair I painted Sorry game token color lime at me and left. I noticed a crack slightly right of center on the seat. I briefly wondered if it would pinch my ass when I sat.
I knew I deserved it.