Brother, we go back
Our yard lays long as a dog run. Hearing thunder, we drag kitchen chairs close to the porch edge and work up a weed cloud to wait inside. The leaves cover wilting grass with crisps of color. A hook breaks on the radio like resurrection and we croon close, scaring off the Sunday swelling up around our city. Tuesday. You slunk in around 3, drunk, fumbling, city smelling up your wool. 10:28am and we were watching the North Tower close in on itself. On break from The Big Green, not yet working at Goldman. Before the Wall Street Bull broke you, we sat hand-in-hand, undercover, loving each other. The covers were weighty as steel. Too soon you were back in the city courting thin women who hung on you like tinsel, breaking bathroom doors with the butt of your hand. We phoned: Didn't you know...? And I didn't. Always the work, the show-time face. Never near enough to be close, Dave. Once Day Day doing The Loco-Motion, all closed fists and flung limbs to Grand Funk...