What about another vacation, he
said, and we all knew better
but we did it anyway, took
a half day and a rental car
to the great upstate, hollow
pit in my stomach as we
kicked back, Reyes y Cobardes,
no subtlety in the symbolism, and
we all did it anyway.
The bone was strained a
hundred times before, empty
nights and lonely meals together,
fights where I scraped my
nails manicured pink and green
into debris on the saltwater boards,
you rum punch confessed I
wasn’t a factor, a bruise I
tried to swallow for days,
but still the bone did not snap.
That night, at some dinner, on
some manicured lawn in some
Tarrytown dream, he picked
a fight, and my guts fell to
ribbons as I plunged, sweaty
palms, trapeze jump, and
I reached for you, eyes
blank and unfeeling as you
watched
me
fall,
snap, the tragic crushing,
soft heart tissue against the
pavement, and you watched
as I writhed in the realization
and you watched.
He took so many swings, left
cruel marks in the wake of his
loving, but it was
you
who bruised a gentle boy
into hues unshakably blue,
unblinking, not sorry,
inspecting the aftermath with
detached curiosity.
I knew better than to hope in you
but I still did it anyway,
now I know knowing sucks no sting
from the fall, will never forget
the apathy in your eyes
as I fell, your hands clasped
in boredom, away from my reach.
michael king 