and cheers to the nostalgic,

drunk on going nowhere and their own impossibility-

blind to the corrosion inherent in their memory-

as they beckon backwards to

schoolyard days; the simple time of drinking under bridges,

graffiti in the darkness, adolescent rage.

“weren’t those the best days of our lives”, he said to me

without a hint of the well smuggled melancholy.

and the shock of it. the sudden stop. the arrest in my attention.

no, i said, they weren’t. and thinking of her, of this life

now spent listening to her manic sleeplessness

and laughing fits and complaints and little stories snatching

pieces of her day; no, these days are the best I’ve had yet.

a strange and perverse thing; to be happy.


One Response to “perversion”

  1. Oh I do like the tone and flow of this poem…and the point of view presented.

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