YOUR 1:00

 

Before you go, notice the grudges

left behind. They have hurdled us

since you burped and I laughed;

since I slipped on stairs and you

signed my cast in black block letters.

 

Left to raise ourselves, we stole and

set fires, got caught and lied,

smoked weed behind our garage.

There is love here, despite my bruised

arms and your well-aimed punches.

 

I’ve kept you in my consciousness for

decades. You are now commended for

your accomplishments, and I say things like,

“Par for the course,” with no idea

why it means what I mean.

 

Between your clipped visits, silence.

We ascribe to opposing slogans,

cancel each other’s votes. I want

to ask you whether my birth caused

you trauma; is my existence a trigger?

 

Lunch over, we embrace, your suit seam

stiff under my cheek. The usual parting

promises. But I can tell by the way

your eyes sweep another horizon,

before you go, I am already gone.