Memories—like things we
call stories behind the darkness
of shut eyelids—arranged themselves,

and I'm in choir,
and the song is in a key
too  high for me,

so I mouth
watermelon all the while.

It's years later now, and
I can't remember what brought
on the subject, but

he said he likes to spell
fruit—after a girl caught him
with the alphabet—and

says his favorite is
watermelon and slurps and
I think it's funny