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i can have more
fulfilling conversations
than i ever could
with you
or anyone else
in my head.

sorry.


i can debate me all i want –
fly my freak flag as i ought;
like what i like
and own what i wrought –
without another being judging
whether this connection needs to be dropped.

it’s probably not you

but i hold these truths to be self-proven
over decades of believing i was being suffused
by the bullies & vicarious lifers
we share space with on this moon –
i’m a White guy from Canada,
i know nothing of misuse:
only a sheltered upbringing i use as my excuse
for thirty years of reservations
in feeling removed.

it’s only been a half-hour in
to this little soirée
and i glare at my wife and throw her the hint
in my eyes that i don’t
want to stay.
she can’t give me an answer
because it’s her nephew’s party

so again i’m patiently waiting.
sorry.


let’s cut to Hecuba and be authentic:
i don’t even really want to be present.

no shit!
what gave me away?
the fact i haven’t taken off my coat,
maybe?
that i’m over here, over-dressed,
isolating and not engaging?
still in sight but like an effigy i loiter?
it’s always fallen into that same order.

there’s a salad someone brought
still full to the rim of the pot
that looks like bread pudding with quinoa on top
and they ask me whether i’ve eaten or not.
yes i’ve had my burger, no i don’t want another
and this anxiety is making me distraught.
“i’m sorry for my husband’s bad behavior:
our work schedule is difficult and making him tired.”


i can see what they’re all thinking:

“get in here,
don’t be shy:
everyone is super-friendly if you give them a try!
this world isn’t so full
to bursting with bad guys
that panic of the unknown should throw your life awry.”
so who of the group tonight is to blame
for this paroxysm of stoicism that you all claim
is just a normal human thing?
then my wife surmised:
“if you need to, go outside
and get high.
then at least you’ll loosen up and get along with the guys.”

we can psychoanalyze it all day:
where it started; was it a mommy
or a daddy problem?
blame them both either way
for the drugs i have to take just to make it to
the end of every day.
i’m sorry.
“stop being sorry and make a decision.”

screw everyone else:
i’ll just talk to myself.

i don’t have to lie and pretend
and in return, be deigned
like looking at what you’re wearing
ten seconds after you’ve arrived –
plaid jacket, plaid shirt,
and i’m here in a tie –
isn’t enough to tell me
that you’re just as selfish & unkind
as these abilities everyone carries inside.
i berate my wife in the car later
that’s the last time i wear jeans to a get-together.

at least with my voices, i know
where they lead and
when they end,
and if they’re not over fast enough,
i can say “good riddance”
with neither collective break nor bend.

for the last time,
sorry –
it won’t ever happen again.

//wd 2.21.2024

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