#patrick samuel

The Lovers

                So, the bros upstairs

cheer along to football

while Erik eats my ass.

Two of Swords

 So, nobody calls it brunch back home, 

always breakfast, and I’m wondering if

it’s because of the booze. We have a little 

list on receipt paper and a pen 

from the waitress. She took longer 

than I’d like to greet us (more and more 

I feel like one half of the angry tracksuit

couple from “Seinfeld,” mad that Kramer

won’t wear the AIDS ribbon), I’m edgy

and need coffee. Omg on the way

here someone stared at me

and I didn’t like it. Like they were

spitting curses under their clenched

teeth, their breath at me. When

my dad used to disappear on binges

I pictured myself as this ball

of highly explosive material,

like one of the mutants from

my comic books. I used to really

feel music, all the way.

That bitch Tiffany 

didn’t even invite me to see Fiona 

live when she was touring for Tidal.

Her and stupid Lauren

smoked weed in an alcove by

St. Andrews. It’s cool, though,

cuz a couple times Jane took

me out with Cary in her Baretta, her 

menthols crisp, how I imagined

a slit throat might take you back at first.

She kept the pack in this compartment

hanging from the ceiling between

the driver and passenger seats

meant for sunglasses. Jane used

to go camping with Cary’s family

and drive around drinking

and smoking and getting guys to give

them these thick gold chains that all 

the racist pigs at my high school 

wore and called ghetto. My mom went

to the same high school as me and says

during the Detroit riots they locked

the school down during

its own race riot and some

other of her bullshit.

She said don’t say excuse me,

say HEY! PUNK! Mmm, no, not

me. I think most people don’t 

know what to “do” with me. 

Elusive as a shadow, Ellen’s

husband Jon said, who I only smoked 

weed with, like, twice. I’m fine. Except

I always feel so pretentious 

feeling fruit to see if it’s good. 

Am I good? Next month, I’ll get

serious again about loving my body,

as if touching is what I’d meant all along.