Seventeen shots of Jager, gifts from strangers
who approach us and shout what are you drinking?
over the frenetic Sunday night dive bar mix.
Two beers at Bodhisattva with Shiva looking down
from the wall and Ganesh peeking over her collar.
Two vodka cranberries to drown the taste of the Red Bull,
and a white russian, which is what I will blame
when I’m on my knees later on the sticky greying floor
while she holds my hair, telling the DJ he can’t come in.
I won’t touch her, he says,
I just want to snort my coke off the good sink.
And don’t we all?
You know all of this, the wild ride, twenty-one,
shuffling out of the innocence I haven’t felt like I had since
before I met you, but you aren’t here, so I can be whoever I want,
and whoever this other boy wants. Every time she turns around
he’s at my side, and I’m drunk, but still not stupid enough
to bring him home, though he asks again and again,
pleads against my mouth with his hands on my hips.
I feel alone in this happiness so I let him kiss me
until my friends come back. We all scream when the DJ
puts on Brass Monkey and dance tightly together,
because if they give an inch he’ll come back for all of me.
It all started to unravel so long ago.
You can’t fault me for not acting like I wanted you enough
when we were the same,
when no one else ever had to try and pry us apart.
You Weren’t Worried, I Was Always Alone | L.E.