Upstairs, the room is stuffed,
The room is hungry
Where the children play
Our draft tank tops
Sweaty, the floor thumps
They dance downstairs, inebriated,
My parents and your’s
– just childhood memories, on a Friday night.
It’s the sweet sense of used blankets,
Both dirty and new
We cling to,
The smell of children
How their future inevitably leaks out
Going skywards in the balls of our eyes
We’re all together now,
Stupidly excited to grow up –
To never grow up –
We all have to grow up –
In morning light we stay up till dawn
Swap games and
As if anyone still remembers how now, just like
We once remembered
Time never runs out.
Our blueprints on the couch
Bony elbows and dangerous games
One pillow over your house
Dare to breathe now
“Stop! Stop!” and flailing arms
It’s something about the smell of that house
And the overstuffed, haphazard cabinets
Fridge with food from last night,
A slice, a warp, a couple of bottles
They’re called cocktail jello.
“Don’t eat it.”
It’s not perfect
Those askew hair strands on the comb, the bathroom floor.
Our life on “pre” mode the whole time
My aunt; your mother
Dutifully slapping our ass
Eyes red, and pupils
The day after.
We look in blank understanding
To one another,
Promised to tell the truth
The whole truth and nothing else, forever and always
When was the last time
We came home satisfied ?
A day well spent, time well deceived,
If this were the truth…