Tom

Eight in the morning.  Thinking about the car.  Broken axles and the side of the road.  I can’t believe you kept that mix tape I made.  Can’t believe you still listen to those same songs.  Can’t believe you remember me.  You were always so high.  The broken staircase you taught me to maneuver.  The house they tore down.  I wrote all of your papers for you.  You stayed in my bed so you’d be on time to class.  I begged you to fuck me.  Be my first.  You refused.  Said you loved me.  Kept the mix tape.  Eight in the morning.  Eight years.  Why are you writing now?  The pizza shop.  Skunked beer on the basement floor.  I remember you now.  Skin and eyes and white teeth.  Why are you writing now?