Friendship

By Ian Thompson

Strung above your mother’s slatetiled
patio, gleaming orbs
wobble with the breath of night—
like pendula. I’m counting
soggy Dorito morsels
that soar as you speak, a few
finding their way to the feet
of this deck chair, upon which
I sit in a defensive
lotus pose.

You want to make
a film, you tell me (about,
like, this lonely ass virgin
who meets a hot girl online,
but she lives in another
galaxy and shit, so he
hijacks a NASA spaceship
to go get laid), and I feign
the woozy grin that adorns
my face in all our old pictures,
and I force the words,
You’re a genius! as I had
a thousand […]