dave calls me now and then

 

for a house without a smoke detector

i got so high

on the top bunk

i knocked over the fishing rods

as I writhed to not dark yet

i fell into my body

for the first time

i needed help

as I sucked the smoke out of your lips

my technique so poor

i felt the room cough

the floors buckled

splintered

pretended to read james joyce

and when it was safe

i went public with french fries

i emerged like a nightshade

in union square

i used to be poisonous 

my heart used to beat in my throat

we used to drink bailey’s irish cream

and grow mold

under your parents bed

i hated that you called them chip and laurie

it made me the child

but i knew where the fire escape was

because chip had thrown a violent cat

to its death

his severed nose in its mouth

the story goes

i hope you became a marine biologist

that you still take the train from sheepshead bay

at 4 in the morning

with dancers and fishermen

who humor your maturity