re: our angelic friend

yes, he was drunk, but
our friend Raphael was not
talking nonsense last night
anywhere near as much
as you thought. all the things
he did and said, like getting you to say
you loved him
in front of me
and saying how good it was
to see us “guys” together
in that strange, knowing tone
and telling us to get out of there
with an odd half-smile
and finally when he ranted
about how you needed to
look up at the sky
– from which the rain
was falling in giant
unmistakable drops,
impossible to ignore, like a sign
from heaven – were direct references
to that subject, the one about which
we dare not speak. that’s why
I didn’t tell you about it
after we left him,
because then
we’d have to speak about it.

also, for your information, I didn’t
tell him anything until he guessed.
to be more accurate,
he read my mind. when
he asked why I was so upset
and I told him all the dumb bullshit surface reasons –
like how much my back hurt and how
the kitchen burned my chicken fingers
and how I hated everyone and
everything – but I was thinking of
the only thing
that really mattered
(at least in terms of my
current mood), and he
picked up on it somehow and
asked me, seemingly
out of nowhere, about you,
and what the deal was
between us. if he hadn’t guessed,
I wouldn’t have told him. I try
really hard not to blab out
our business to everyone,
but when I’m already spilling over
inside my heart
and someone puts their finger right
on the button,
sometimes it just comes out.

so look up at the sky,
and tell me again
how it’s not raining.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s