May 10, 2011

Santa Monica bar scene
 
The drive south takes less than expected, so here
you are, sitting down to spaghetti and meatballs
and a fancy vodka drink at R & D, the sky clear
of the fog bank still hovering over your city. The evening calls
for conversation, and as you wait for your friend to arrive, you initiate
one with the man to your right, asking how his fish is. Soon enough,
the night rewinds, and Ted reveals a narrative from 3rd grade,
the punching bag boy he was, and his eyes gloss from the memory, as if
still stinging from assault. It amazes you, the wounds our bodies hold,
the membrane of the past reed-thin, our story waiting to be told.