When I arrived at Brian’s house, the whole room smoked out.
I prayed to God I was walking into a witch burning.
But he was lying on the couch melting
into the cushions, being swallowed and chewed.
Like cud in a cows mouth, slowly sloshing around.
He’s rolling joints on top of college rejection letters.
He doesn’t want help in the most obvious ways:
he wants it in the way couples make suicide pacts.
Glass eyed, he looks at me and grabs
a beer: no cheers,
no salute, or words
exchanged.
We drink the beer quickly
Aluminum tips to pink lips,
that moose **** taste of natty ice.
As our ******** banter bounces of the walls.
The light bends off Brian’s glasses and flashes in my eyes,
Like the scope of a ****** rifle.
He is fixed on the flashing blue TV screen.
If I’m here or not makes no difference
He puts the joint in his mouth, lights it up.
The flame ignites against his sugar glazed eyes,
his skin stretched tight across his pale face.
Bright blue veins all along his skin,
like highways on a map.
A corpse in a cheap Halloween
costume.
I catch a ghostly outline
of him with all his drop out friends.
Lined up, ****** on the couch.
Jack-o'-lanterns.
Carved with frozen grins,
so weary
and hollowed out.
-Kevin Theal