What did I mean that during parties I choose the sofa // like a sick cat? That when tattoos are dispensed I’m first / in line? That books full of other people’s misery // make the beach infinitely more pleasant? Stargazing is another weakness. / Too much I examine the patch of dirt where nothing grows // where buried curiosa aren’t deep enough, though in Short Answer / I’m all for dancing alone in a silken robe. Friends call. // Mostly the machine answers. Mozart makes me cry. / I kill spiders without guilt.
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You only have to make her one grilled cheese
in the suffocating heat of summer
while still wearing your wet swim trunks
to know what it’s like to be in love.
And you only have to sit once
for a haircut in the air conditioning
with the lovely stylist to forget all about it,
and to forget that anything in the universe
ever existed prior to the small, pink sweater
now brushing softly against your neck.
in the suffocating heat of summer
while still wearing your wet swim trunks
to know what it’s like to be in love.
And you only have to sit once
for a haircut in the air conditioning
with the lovely stylist to forget all about it,
and to forget that anything in the universe
ever existed prior to the small, pink sweater
now brushing softly against your neck.
Dobby Gibson, excerpt from Are We There Yet?
