A dear friend once left me
and took everything
that meant a lot to me. Himself. He died.
I'd see him constantly in dreams
naked, sitting on a sofa
with a small snake curled on top of his head;
its head resting in the middle of his forehead,
like the crown of an Egyptian prince.
The oldest things I have in my house
are fifty cent pieces with Kennedy's head on them.
I got them from a man in flight to a dope dealer.
He seemed desperate and said he needed paper bills.
I started to refuse, but saw death smoldering
in the crack of his eyes.
An old classmate of mine said
that she once took a walk with her dad.
He was drunk and fell against a building
that had a Flamingo bird in its window.
He slid down to the ground
and passed out.
She tumbled him over and over,
like a rolled up carpet, to a shaded tree and left,
but not before pinning a note to his chest that read:
"Please Don't Step On My Friend."
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