Ursine

Alone, sat straddled and backwards,

Plastic folding chair downstairs in

Wismer, willfully blacked out, and

Out a ride to Wa, so reluctantly

Buying cheap free-ish thin crust

In the basement. Chris said he’d

Be back with a surprise which I

Surmise is some Spring harlot, small

Brunette, and sprawled on the carpet,

Or the floor. But more, you’re missing

The part, because I haven’t told you

Yet, where he’d do this always, and when

He didn’t, we’d both be at our desk

Watching boys meet worlds, and as

Our neighbors met to fuck, and then forget,

We’d play Juanes, and I’d foreshadow my

Obsession with the Spanish language,

And cheese, and fortified wine. And laminate

My inadequacy in half-truths. In truth, my

Existence there meant all and nothing much.

For such a short time, I climbed and made

My way, and paid as well. And well, I guess I

Mean to say I underestimated the way you’d

Weave yourself into my quilt. The silt erodes

And to quote almost everyone, I regret the idea

I’d ever have to pack my shit and leave.