qarrtsiluni

You, leaning against
the stall, eyes half closed
as if you’d blacked out
in the middle of a piss,
and me, on the cold
tile floor like a teenager’s
abandoned newborn.
You read poetry
with passion and a slur,
you said you’d been
just like me and promised
I’d be just like you
before long.

I blinked up at you,
taking in the mingling
odors of stale urinal cakes
and cheap vodka, the light
that seemed to flicker
as you swayed in and out
of its path, your bloodshot
eyes begging for and
forbidding my judgment,
and the room echoed
with everything I almost said.

by Andy P.

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