Less Than Nothing :: published in Word Fountain

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Listen :: I Hate Myself :: Less Than Nothing

Less Than Nothing

 So what’s the plan?
       He sits on my bed
in his tight blue and white plaid button down shirt,
          the one reserved for special occasions.
 
                                                                                           Q and Not U show in Brooklyn,
                                                                                        you need a costume.
 

 
                                   The night is clear
                                   the smell of dead and dying leaves flies at us.
                                   We walk   :   a foot of     space
                                                                                                  separates us,
                                                       only glance
                                         at each other
                                                          before staring at the ground.  

In his old Civic
     an old mix tape plays   :   Our Time   :   
                  Bedford   :   Magnus   :   Stutterbum
     Worthless   :   1.21   :   Abscission   :   Option   
              I stare at the indentations
                      my fishnets make on my knees.
                                                                  It’s odd to be anywhere but
                                                                           a Bedford show on Halloween, I say.
                                                        I turn to his backseat,
                                                               So you keep a cowboy hat in your car?
You have to be ready
        for anything, he says.
 

 
We walk through the crowd
      bump into Billy Idol,
           a few spacemen, and a giant chicken before
we reach the stage.
                                                                        I shiver even with my coat on.
Hello there, we are Stan Levine’s Party Machine
          the band in powder blue tuxedos,
                       yarmulkes, and fake mustaches shout.
We’re glad that you could all be here to celebrate
                            Ben Cohen’s Bar Mitzvah with us.


After     YMCA
           The Chicken Dance
                                      Love Shack
                           he looks at me
with the smile
                   of the fifteen year old BMX kid
who moshed at shows.

The room is a sing-along
            White Wedding and Nothin’ But a Good Time
I stuff my jacket under the stage
                       sing and dance with the pit.
 
                       Stand on my toes
shoved by the crowd
 
I kiss him.
                                           Thank you everyone and            goodnight.

 
                                                                              I stare out the passenger window
                                                     through my transparent reflection.

                                                                                                           Why are you here?
                                                                                                                        I thought we were…
         I needed a night
                     with the summer girl.
 

 
We walk down
the florescent hallways
       of the dorm.                        The graffiti covered door slams.
 
I change into pajamas
               lie on my bed,
he lays next to me
his arm resting my stomach.
 
I try to talk
                                        stop myself every time.
               I brush his hair from his eyes.
He smiles,
                 We had a good run.
                                                           Yeah,         we had a good run.

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