Lena doesn’t get high with us anymore.

She appears at the door
stumbles through without saying hello.

Found a niche, she says.
Knitting.
She doesn’t waste time.

Lena swaps all her needles
with the other ******;
she gets two spikes a pin.

She has lots now.
Could crucify Christ
and all his friends.

Lena knits us wool sweaters
to hide the needle marks
masquerading as mosquito bites.

Fingers, a blur
eyes, glazed and gone,
Lena has big headshop dreams:
Wool syringe pouches,
she says,
next big thing.
You'll see.

Anna has Irving
Leonard's with Suzanne
Lena has nobody
to call her man.

Lena doesn’t get high with us anymore.