He broke up with his girlfriend,
drank seven pints, and then told me
about his high school hazing.
Sitting at the pub in Streatham
listening to him talk, this beautiful
straight man, I am in a country
far away from where he suffered
on the water polo team.
In between vapes, telling me about
the times he was tied up, beaten
with razor blades, shaved. That time
they brought a cow into school
just to drag the creature upstairs
and execute it. Not yet home, I tread
beneath the early leaves, summer
blue, wonder if you’ll be in the living
room sprawled with the cats
as I push my key through our front door
that always sticks. He still has
a picture of her as his lock screen.
Beaten, but not forgotten, I think
kindness too is a form of avoidance.