This is a fucking poem

Several Nights and a Few Days

There was the night that you, almost sloshing from the wine,
Shouted out loud for all to hear, that you would rather die young
Than have to face an endless progression of hung over mornings
And the death boredom of afternoons when the TV offered
Only soap operas and infomercials and game shows aimed at old,
Wrinkled women with nothing left to look forward to.

There was the morning that you woke to find me next to you,
Blinked through matted eyes and puffy lids, gave me a small
Lemon scented perfunctory kiss and then suggested that I should,
As soon as possible, vacate your bed so that you could sleep and yes,
Last night was fun but I shouldn’t take it too seriously
After all, we were very good friends and it would be a shame to ruin that.

There was the night that you called me, sounding drunk again,
Apologizing for needing help but needing it just the same and unable to
Think of anyone else that you could call at one a.m. to ask to come get you
And bring you home from a dank apartment halfway across the city where
The man that you had gone home with had started to get rough and scared you
I never even considered saying no. I just came and got you.

There were the times that I held your hair back while you puked
And the times that I listened while you told me that you were glad that
Your best friend was a boy. Boys made more sense than girls, you said.
And there were the times that you, drunk again, let me fondle your breasts
And would eventually give in to my groping and let me love you for a while.
And there was the time that you made me drive all night with nowhere to go.

Then, there was the night that you used the cheap strawberry wine that you were
So fucking fond of to chase an entire bottle of Darvocet and a handful of
Valium.

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