These fingery hearts
(I wear one on each digit)
come together as one;
in simplicity of loving;
singing what my mouth cannot sing.

Here’s your fare
for the bus to school

your mother said
but some days you walked

and spent the money
on doughnuts at the bakery

on the way to school
and you felt them warm

through the white paper bag
the baker had put them in

and you ate them on the way
then licked your fingers clean

like some fingery *******
and Ed Sutcliffe met you

in the playground and said
You got sugar around your mouth

and he pointed
with his ink stained finger

and so you wiped
around your mouth

with your tongue
until all was clean

and you said
That Ok?

and he stared
at your mouth and lips

and said
Yeah that’s better

and you said
Where’s O’Brien?

He hasn’t come yet
Sutcliffe said

but Austen’s here
he drove up in his sports car

a few moments back
you sighed and looked

towards the place
where he parked his car

red and flashy
I suppose he’ll be

in his usual
bullying mood again

said Sutcliffe
holding up

the clay pots
and saying

Look at this specimen
of a ***

and hold it
up for the class to see

Don’t remind me
you said

Austen’s a fink
with a face of pits

like the surface
of the moon

and Sutcliffe laughed
and it kind of eased

his nervousness
and you saw

in his blue eyes
that sharp fear

that people have
when another dies.

                  Your toes look weird, look at them all long and fingery.
Sometimes I wonder how you can know exactly the perfect things to drive me crazy,
         I guess its just part of our interactions.
               If an outsider were to observe it they would think we were bitter enemies,
                   Sometimes I have to remind myself too.

                     *Look it’s the what what in the **** boy!
I silently cringe, but know it’s just your hello.
          I’m glad your home and I prepare my rebuttal.
                  Why are you always excited when talking about boys butts?
                         It was weak but better than nothing, now I bide my time for my turn to attack.

                      What time do you work at? you ask as you relax.
What’s the matter? Can’t you remember anything old man?
           I know that your receding memory is a sensitive nerve,
                 And I thrive on hopping up and down on it.
                      Sometimes I wonder why we do this to each other.

230 I finally answer feeling bad for the low blow,
          You smile, and I know my guilt was your intention all along.
                 It’s times like this I’m positive we were cut from the same cloth.
                    I love you, you know that? I throw out into the air,
*Of course bro, I love you too, what’s on TV?