Photo by Daryan Shamkhali on Unsplash
after David Roybal
we sit on the fire
escape made of wood
crookedly shoved
in the alley behind
my apartment,
our feet dangling
above a crumpled rainbow
folding chair and
someone’s splintered
bed frame—they must’ve
replaced it when they noticed
the shards beginning to creak
toward breaking, you say
staring between it
and the busted Styrofoam
cup that long since emptied
itself of whatever sweetness
it once held—we’re drinking
gasoline which our friends know
we shouldn’t, beg
for us to stop, but I love
the flavor and you are bored
so we pass
the emptying can between
drags from the cigarettes
we just started learning
to smoke from the lightning bugs
who lit them for us (we don’t
carry matches (they started young))
and they tell us not to worry,
it’s totally natural so it’s totally
safe, and you whisper how easy
it must be to not have
lungs and I stifle
a giggle and a hiccup that tastes
like a roadtrip—I could sit here forever
tapping ash into closed containers
wiping dribble from our chins
being careful
with all the ways we aren’t careful
but it’s cold and the bugs
have really clouded up the balcony
with menthols and lightning
so I worry I tell you
I worry that eventually
the thought of leaving
won’t make you sad enough
to stay and you say
fear is just love
facing the wrong direction
which sounds nice enough
for the moment and the venue—
a friend calls you to the party
inside, you go easily
saying I’ll be right back with a hand
laced across my shoulder
before you leave—it’s a long night
the lightning bugs fall asleep
in my hair if they didn’t find
a spot in my mouth
under the tongue and
I try to make it inside
but I can’t stand for the sloshing
of fuel in me so I lay flat
on the warping planks of the escape
hoping the bugs stay careful of their light
wondering how you made it work
if we’ve been here together all night
how isn’t your stomach full
of the same stuff as me
Timmy Sutton is a person who writes, analyzes budgets, and misses his friends and family from Springfield, IL. Some of his stuff is in (or forthcoming from) Taco Bell Quarterly, Back Patio Press, Rejection Letters, Ghost City Review, The Georgetown Voice, Bossier, and on Button Poetry's youtube channel. You can find him on twitter @timothy_matthan.