the past is a grotesque animal

the parks are filled with homeless men and drunken women and
lonely dogs and stray cats and somewhere in all of that
a mess of chaos is molded by the creativity of man’s inability to

love
the mess of humanity’s finest women;
and as I look out my window and smoke a cigar and have a beer in
your name, baby, you call me and your name flashes on Caller ID.

“hey, Seth … ” your voice rings. thoughts of you in my bed,
undressed, moaning your boyfriend’s name,
scratching at my back, linking your legs with mine, licking,
licking, licking your name onto my neck with those lips.

“yeah, this is him,” I said.

“oh, your voice sounds different. deeper, even. it’s great to hear

your voice again.”

I inhaled and exhaled cigar smoke, saying: “times change the best of

us to our worst, and even vice-versa, baby.”

“true, true. anyways, I’m calling to ask if you’re not busy sometime

this week? I’d like to see you. you know, catch up?”

I took a hit of my beer and shook my head, broken grin. “I have a

girlfriend right now. she won’t like me seeing someone as beautiful

as you, someone that can turn me over like eggs on skillet. I’m safer

in here. I’m safer away from women in general.”

“I need a friend. I thought you were my friend?”

“times change the best of us, baby …”

you quivered on the other end. I felt your breathe on my neck, though

we never met after that time at the pool on Bicentanial and Harvey

Ave.

“alright, well, fuck you, Seth. I really wanted to talk to you,” you

said and hung up.

I stood there with the phone against my
ear for a minute
then placed it back
down, off the hook,
and went to bed with a red-tipped
cigarette, burning,
and a near empty can of
beer, echoing your name,
your name, your
name:

Audra.