we sit literally
over our own orders
of eggs and coffee discussing
character disorders like poetry
and philandering and whether
cancer is always a bad thing --
you wolfing through
all that gravy and me
feeling too queasy to take
in that greasy remedy;
hung over? allegedly.
you quit
drinking a dozen
years ago, while i lit
the old school town
on fire the night
before. you've forgotten
more than I've yet
learned about writing,
which makes me want to
keep trying.
