Contributor: Robbie Nickles
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Sometimes I miss you,
for the way you made me leave
my friend’s apartment when we were fifteen
so you could fuck him
listening to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack.
For the way you found me at a Steak 'n Shake afterward
and insisted on walking me home.
You asked me my favorite band.
I told you Sonic Youth.
You told me I was really deep.
I miss you for the way we used to hang out
in your dad’s antique cars
and listen to The Rolling Stones.
We’d go to food joints
where the waitresses brought out our food on rollerskates
so we could reminisce about a time we never lived in.
I miss the Christmas we spent together,
held up in your father’s cabin,
I gave you Phish’s Hoist.
You gave me Ween’s The Mollusk.
We took acid and ecstasy
and laughed
about the place becoming a boat
that we were sailing on alone,
together.
I told you I wanted you to be my first.
You told me you liked me too much for that.
I miss you giving your physicality to my friends,
yet maintaining I was your “soulmate”.
I miss the way when life got rough,
you would come visit me bearing Bacardi,
insist on sleeping next to me in my bed.
Touching was off limits.
You became a world I had to leave
For the world.
I read you were arrested
for molesting a mentally handicapped boy.
I found out looking for your obituary
after you were found in a bathtub,
covered head to toe in morphine patches.
You never liked the physical world anyway.
- - -
Robbie lives in Winston-Salem, NC with his wife and miniature schnauzer.
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- -
Sometimes I miss you,
for the way you made me leave
my friend’s apartment when we were fifteen
so you could fuck him
listening to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack.
For the way you found me at a Steak 'n Shake afterward
and insisted on walking me home.
You asked me my favorite band.
I told you Sonic Youth.
You told me I was really deep.
I miss you for the way we used to hang out
in your dad’s antique cars
and listen to The Rolling Stones.
We’d go to food joints
where the waitresses brought out our food on rollerskates
so we could reminisce about a time we never lived in.
I miss the Christmas we spent together,
held up in your father’s cabin,
I gave you Phish’s Hoist.
You gave me Ween’s The Mollusk.
We took acid and ecstasy
and laughed
about the place becoming a boat
that we were sailing on alone,
together.
I told you I wanted you to be my first.
You told me you liked me too much for that.
I miss you giving your physicality to my friends,
yet maintaining I was your “soulmate”.
I miss the way when life got rough,
you would come visit me bearing Bacardi,
insist on sleeping next to me in my bed.
Touching was off limits.
You became a world I had to leave
For the world.
I read you were arrested
for molesting a mentally handicapped boy.
I found out looking for your obituary
after you were found in a bathtub,
covered head to toe in morphine patches.
You never liked the physical world anyway.
- - -
Robbie lives in Winston-Salem, NC with his wife and miniature schnauzer.
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Author:
Robbie Nickles
