It was a rough fall and an even harder
winter, but now spring is here. The mumble
manic emo rappers are still raining down from
the SoundCloud, and she’s one of them; green
long hair with with pink wisps strewn about:
lil lex, no caps, except her album is called A PRO.
Billy and lex got married in a chunk of trees,
and I only got an invite because back in
high school I made out with the bride behind some
bleachers at a football game. Who remembers who won?
You had a black Run-DMC shirt that was cut up and sleeveless
with a scarlet bra that didn’t have any wire; you had a flute
of something that bubbled, but I never saw any glassware around.
after the ceremony everyone partied in the greenbelt, and Sasha
stayed around not drinking, but picking up trash with a plastic bag.
We smoked a joint together and I asked her your name, “who, her?”
“I dunno,” and then I helped her pick up trash for a bit as the light faded
behind the mixed native and invasive trees. She had yellow flats
with a blue flower print; I had black chucks, predictably, horribly–I wore slacks,
and my shirt had had a collar, but it would not stay tucked.
later, in firelight, lil lex threw off her wedding day tube top
and Billy laughed and poured Prosecco
all over himself. they kissed, and we all applauded and you were still
there, a wry and joyous look on your face, your bangs banging against
my blurred, drunk vision. There was a milky, full moon and a clear sky,
and it was a blessedly cool night. Billy started to howl, you yawped,
and song-of-myself I swear, that made me stumble. No, it wasn’t the booze
or drugs, it was that noise from your mouth. I heard your voice and fell.