One Hundred and Twenty Three

He took off his helmet, and for a second, seemed like one of us. The same damp tread marks striping his peppery hair could be found on the soft skull of our own quarterback. He blew into his hands and I thought, yeah, that's probably what I'd do if I were throwing a football in December. And we clapped when this man fell. God, should I send him a card or something?

One Hundred and Six

If I could be an article of clothing, I’d be Warren Beatty’s V-neck sweater. I’d be blue and shrinking and then he’d put me on. Smelling of cigarettes and 1967, I’d reach for his drink and complement his eyes… my threads stretching as he parts his high-rise hair. After scratching at his Oxford button-up beneath, I’d rub his back and kiss his chest, only to wake up used and on the floor.

Forty Eight

I’m writing this in green typewriter font because it seems fitting-- and because you’re leaving me here. Jerimiah, you are not the peanut butter to my jelly; you’re only my best friend. We’re not a clever movie; we’re nowhere, Ohio. And I will write many chapters in my book about how you kept me alive and thank god for the Jewish black woman in heaven who gave you bass clefs for cheeks.

Forty Four

Somehow, someway, I've been tunneled through time and space and have landed in the Animal House. Four five six I know that I should be embarrassed just to be seen here. Fourteen fifteen sixteen The thing is, I don't even feel that bad about suckling a bag of cheap boxed wine held by some guy I don't know. Twenty-seven Twenty-eight Twenty-nine I'm almost empowered by the chanting. Thirty. By God, I'm a champ.

And the crowd roars.

Thirty Four

From the first day I missed the big game for a big poop, I knew better. While they were planning their weddings with flowery perfumes, I dreamed of the day when I could fart in your lap. That would be the day we lie there in peace, grinning lazily as the wee howler monkeys in our tummies spoke and laughed and harmonized together. Is it today, my love? I'll hold it in.