Published in Conspire, issue 12, an on-line quarterly literary journal @ www.conspire.org & in the March ~ April 2000 issue of Wired Art from Wired Hearts @ http://wiredheart.hispeed.com the phone call Your voice throws me back to jagged years the unpredictable days before my sobriety My first mixed drink was concocted by you while our parents were getting smashed and kissing brass at the officer's club We lived in our own uniform, black converse high tops, patchouli oil, and velvet jackets We played the enlisted men with the same finesse as we did our air guitars Now between the lyrics of Go Your Own Way, I hear you say, "cirrhosis of the liver" and I feel like I did that night we took the blotter acid and you decided to run away No, I don't want your old poetry books, that would hurt too much. They are the children you never had, in each one, favorite parts lovingly underlined ©~Ta§ha~ 1999 << |
