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poem 24 – 2-1-15
RED SOUP
his motive was unclear to me
his narrative was a laundry list
a compilation of karma’s toll
uttered from his staggering lips
the soup i would eventually pay for
sat there in front of him
it was red and hardly touched
i knew he was fucked up again
sedated on this sham of a diner date
junkies and their promises
go hand and hand
like we used to
never mind getting nostalgic
he’s just like a character dennis cooper would write up
thin, young and very confused
it was clear his stupid hair was greasy
so much so that a stranger would assume it was dressed in murray’s pomade
but i knew it was a product of his avoidance of washrooms
or at least the socially acceptable proper use of them
he was a low life
i don’t know why i held him in such high regard
he was a cliché at best
his jesus and mary chain t-shirt made visible
by his thrift store flannel with none of the buttons buttoned
i wondered what he was looking for with his wandering eyes
but really, i was looking for something in him with mine
yea, he was a cliché but what was i?
why did i agree to meet him?
i wouldn’t fuck him… not now.
not because i’m a some sort of moralist
i’m afraid of catching something
i’m sure he has to have something
now i just feel bad for him..
that’s funny isn’t it?
how those who have nothing
but their addiction have the undesirables
and become undesired themselves
i wonder why he wanted to see me
evidently it wasn’t a free meal
maybe a place to stay?
i can’t let him stay over..
i’d wake up and my computer would be missing
along with him
everything he did he did to the fullest
i guess this was just another one of those things
he nodded off and instead of waking him
i walked out of the diner
after paying
i’ll let the waiter, David wake him
he’ll probably give him a few free coffees
DYLAN DOREN 