House: a dog blind in one eye
dusty dry air stings my nose
we sit reminiscing while
Mitchell at his laptop shouts “Soraka
my Soraka”.
Park: a jungle gym we climb in the dark
with sandy socks like we’re children
again and Salty talks about getting cruised
by horny men on PCH during night walks.
I fake a smile and pretend I can relate.
Buffet: if someone doesn’t eat the cheesy nanners
or the ketchup covered rice crispy
we won’t get a ride back.
Dayday calls it disgusting cafeteria food
after eating four plates.
Ghetto streets: Salty talks about the bums
giving each other head in back of the McDonald’s.
Couch: we brainstorm
and he won’t stop bitching
unless his card idea “Booberella”
gets made. Not going to happen.
He never stops bringing it up.
Car: Hans tells me if I were a real friend
I’d kill him without raping the body.
I make the promise.
Tom’s: everyone gathers for Chili Thursday
religiously. We all have five dollars
saved; large chili cheese fries, Dr. Pepper.
Everyone knows their chair.
It’s not the chili that matters.
Cadence Collective: Long Beach Poets 