Air murky with the stale smell
of ****, we sit
on the couch, both mute.
I drape my arms across my belly,
pinching my Victorino jersey
nervously,
convincing myself
I'm having fun.

He lounges with the remote
in one hand,
our dying joint in the other.
There is something on TV.
I don't know what, I just

force myself to laugh intermittently,
while he sits back, looking
relaxed, even bored.
(I convince myself
I'm having fun.)
An abrupt commercial break, and suddenly,
an ad.
For what?
I squint. Flashes of
water, boats, and
what might be heroics,
but time has slowed, and I
can only focus

for a few seconds of lucidity,
the sheer volume of information
overwhelming.
(I convince myself
I'm having fun.)
A narrator's voice, and I understand
the ad is for the navy.
What I should have learned is that
it's a "bright career path"
for the "intelligent, determined, hard-working"
individual.
Cute.

He brings rolled paper to his lips
and pulls.
A sideways glance and
a restrained voice–
"I could have done that,"
the muffled words rush out,
as he waits to exhale.