by Kurt Edward Milberger
Editor's Note: Due to the formatting of this poem, it is best enjoyed on desktop.
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Time has mottled it
distance seeped
pixels into an image
both more clear
and confusing
for its
being incomplete
the hallway we shared
the wall
[after you left
the thunks,
the moans,
the laughing of the new
girl getting fucked]
but you
never distracted my silence
with your moans
or had much of anything
to say
tall,
long dirty blond hair,
scruffy
four-day old beard
jeans with tears
baggy shirts—
too baggy—
hooded sweatshirts
probably we could
have been friends—
cases of PBR
probably we liked
the same bands—
The Misfits,
Suicidal Tendencies,
Megadeth,
probably we played
the same video games
certainly we both
ended up storing our lives
in the tall brick house
where once they stored ice
mine full of cat hair
unread books
reruns of Star Trek
yours behind the door
opaque until it spilled out
into the hallway—
your blood
made into first responders’
footsteps
came home late
with my bike
cherries
ambulance
police cars
flashing lights
—Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it?
—Yeah, something terrible has happened.
bring the bike upstairs
avoid the bloody
steps
smeared
through the hallway
leading up to your door
they say you
the bathtub
from which I heard them
pull your chunky body,
covered in gore and gristle
they could
have told me
you preferred eggs for breakfast
grape jelly on your toast
I would have known more
about your life
all the time
we shared
in that building—
I learned later you were studying architecture
at the university—
I hoped you
wouldn’t stop
wouldn’t slow
me down
those days
we told each other
Hey
in the halls
those few times
we said
Hi
Kurt Edward Milberger writes and lives in Georgia with his family and a goldfish called Sarah. His work has appeared in Litmora and is forthcoming in Moss Puppy Magazine. He is on twitter @kurtmilb.
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