Ashley (how I learned I was sadistic)

I thought of you
when I clipped this carabineer
 to my hip

I never really thought you were attractive
probably because you were younger than me
 and blonde

Your hips were wide
but your jeans just kinda sunk
 down into your legs

You came to Florida from Massachusetts
smoked Marlboro reds
 scenecut studbelt blueyed girl

We used to knock down lamp posts
in your half-built neighborhood
 ’cause they were hardly bolted in at all

Sang Where I end and you begin
with the windows open
 stoned & speeding on the way home

After a couple of years 
your old friend Seamus
 came to visit for a week

He was looking for a mindfuck
asking everyone for mushrooms at the party
 ’cause he could never get them back home

Some kid rolled up in a Buick with a paper bag half-full
of fresh pasture picked cubensis
 asking twenty but was talked down to fifteen

He was already wasted
I hadn’t noticed it until then
 but he was also hideously in love

We tried to warn him not to mix the two
but there was no stopping that
 chain reaction of excess

Or maybe we
wanted him to learn
 the hard way

‘Cause when it peaked upon him
for the very first time
 he was brought to his knees

All he could do was profess his undying love for you
in the empty park mindlooping
 sometime after midnight

There kneeling in the thick grass
we sat next to each other
 on the bench amused at this display

He practically vomited that he loved you
and that he always had, over and over,
 like the words were caught in a circuit

“No you don’t, Seamus, shut up, you’re just fucked up.”
You told him
 with a sly smirk and a sideways exhale

Never before, and never again,
my hands were all over your small tits
 and my tongue was in your drunk mouth

We were on fire
and he began to cry
 unable to believe his eyes

The more he suffered
at our feet
 the more we felt alive


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11 thoughts on “Ashley (how I learned I was sadistic)

  1. Tom Cordle

    Lovely and wicked –I hope the names were changed to protect the guilty. We all have aspects of ourselves we’d rather not know exist, and those aspects are most often exposed in the presence of alcohol and in the absence of love.

    Reply

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