My days as a newspaper boy
in Los Angeles County
With an unkempt beard
and long hair,
Lasted about as long as I expected

I looked awfully sketchy at 3 am roaming the streets of Norwalk and Downey,
or maybe,
I fit in well with the late night diner crowd of the area.
There wasn’t much money left to be made, mostly immigrants and parents needing a third job to pay the rising area rent are here.
The only ones left to throw papers to are aging Asian parents who live vicariously through their children.
And they’re dying off fast.

Getting back at 5 am
and waking the house,
back up at nine to take you to work.
Up the 105
to the 605
We pass through Bellflower
and coast to your theater in Cerritos.
No coffee
Yet
Waits on the stereo
The windows are down
no AC
Your feet are on the dash
You’re nursing a Gatorade
to cure this morning’s hangover.
I am at ease.

You don’t remember moments like these until there’s two hours left in your shift and your boss reminds you he needs those reports.
With a clean shaven face and short hair.
This has lasted longer than I expected.

When the winter left and Canada had finally warmed up, we both had wished it stayed around for just awhile longer.
So we could have mustered up some more thoughts about how we would apologize to one another.
Before the particles of the magnolia trees and white trillium had tickled the sensors of our nose and had made us forget about one another.
I can feel the Carolina dog days of summer approaching while the last of your snow finally turns to a muddy water.
Anima gemella, you promised to be in my arms come spring time.

I tried to hate you in the fairest way a man could hate a woman.
Hatred because she destroyed the name of love, dissolved destiny, and distorted all poetry.
Enough false hatred so I would never have to speak to you again.
Making even the greatest -- Poe, Neruda, Bukowski, Plath and the others all live in vain.
But even I knew that wasn't possible.

Not defeated by the fact that you can't love me back
But by the feeling that you're the only person I've ever loved
And that I'll never get to feel the warmth of your body in a hotel room bed in the center of the city.
And that you'll forever live through a 3.5 inch screen however many states and countries away.
And how every day, whether you're listening or not.
I will tell you that I love you, whether or not you love me.

Drunk off my fifth whiskey sour and third shot of cinnamon flavored whiskey after a southern rock concert I dragged my friends to on a school night.
Finally home and lying in bed at 4 am.
I swear this is the third time I've seen this episode of Sportscenter tonight.
I stare with soaked eyes at pictures of you and I'm missing those Japanese pearls of a smile.
The ones my grandfather brought home from the war but were stolen when a thief entered my parents home back in 04 the night after the Sox finally won it all.
I'm missing the hint of a Torontonian accent I'd catch you say on certain words.
I miss the times we never met.
And the weekend trips we had planned to meet.
I miss the money that I put aside halfway through my trip to Southern California to come see you that's now been spent on ***** and Waffle House.
The fact that the cheerleaders from your university came into my work tonight and that Rob Ford is everywhere on TV doesn't help.
Now all I do is check and make sure you're alright on the last social media website you haven't blocked me from.
And now all I can do is call out of work and turn my TV off.
And I only hope that you have found someone that is making you happy.
Someone into cooler music with a bigger record collection.
Someone who isn't as jealous that you send photos to all the boys.
Someone who helps you through all your teenage problems at the age of 23.
Someone who accepts you for who and what you are.
I can only hope he rearranges his plans and changes for you.

I wanted to feel something
When I couldn't feel anything
It was the first time in months that reminded me
Life is not painless

3:31 AM on a Thursday night and I get it,
"I'm sorry"
You tell me halfheartedly from a beat up old phone your mother gave you six years ago.
Forever swimming further away from me in an ocean of bourbon and seaweed filled bowls.
My legs shaking
And my eyes watering
On what I'll blame on the southern cold that comes once a year.
About as often as you do.
We can catch up
And talk about our dysfunctional lives when we were 18 and closer
We can make up
And we can apologize for making things much more complicated than we should have.
But we'll realize all of this has just expired and gone stale

If I'm free I'll never pass up a late night coffee session with Mike.
It gives me a hug of comfort of when things were simpler in high school.
Before we talked of job interviews and salaries
And pretty girls with blue jean eyes in Georgia and Canada who don't pay much attention to you.
But when we talked about Madden and shows
And pretty girls who lived only 10 minutes away
For those 45 minutes when I'm sipping on that muddy, 4 AM Waffle House coffee.
I'm 16 again.
And I'm at home.

Your lifeless body with your unclipped toe nails and your tiny feet
Your old, grey face with a look of defeat
Sadness came straight through my door
When I saw you had collapsed on the living room floor
I just wanted to hold you one last time
To try and shake these sad feelings of mine
I gave you a kiss and I knew I wouldn't get one back
I for sure knew, it would be my last
Thank you for always being a great listener when I needed you most
Unfortunately in 14 hours I leave for the west coast
I'll take the lessons you taught and the love that you gave
And spread it far and wide until I reach my own grave
When I reach that grave you'll know that your spirit did not die
But there's a hint of it in everyone I've met worldwide
And when they meet others you will too know
That your very spirit has helped them grow