jack the swinger of birches when jack goes to church, it seems like i see him wearing the same blue shirt everytime, its just he accents it with a different tie or pants. i used to think jack was quiet and would be someone that was hard to get to know, but my opinion of him has changed. i like seeing jack in his blue shirt because it reminds of a good boy who has a favorite and isn't afraid of how many times he has worn it or how many wholes it may have in it, the color is a soft blue and he likes that color becuase it reminds him of the sky or hibiscus flowers. that is why he wears it all the time. it gives him a good thought and makes his latin skin look bronze. jack and i played soccer with a pair of glasses we found in the parking lot at the place with go carts and pool tables. later we ate at ihop with everyone and made jokes. he kept laughing at the faces i was making as i ate the mexican candy that sara's friend gave me. it had a chili coating. i hated it. when jack laughs i can't stop laughing because i know that i must look stupid and so i laugh even harder at the thought of what i look like. plus jack reminds me of jeremy and jordan healy. and when i think of them i think of naughty pranks with stink bombs or fake cigarettes. i think of being young and immature, and that really keeps me alive. 030323 ... kerry we tiptoed around each other at first, sat at the bar rolling silverware and talking about music. i said yes to you because you seemed sweet and gentle and unlike anyone i’d ever been with: you looked like a viking, white-blond hair and wild eyebrows and so tall, and i thought, “maybe this is better–let’s try something new.” soon we were lying in your bed by the open window listening to your neighbors get ready for church blasting gospel music. we shared three apartments in four years even though i always knew it wouldn’t last. (how did i know? too few books on your shelf, too much alcohol, you never read my writing, we didn’t know how to fight) only one time i was afraid of you. it had crossed my mind that this may happen eventually, but still it surprised me. late one night i woke up alone. you were taking a piss in the grass in front of our porch, drunk and wobbly. i yelled your name and you stumbled inside. i was livid. “this is disgusting. you’re disgusting. you have a problem.” later i regretted being so cruel, but i doubt you remembered. you, nearly a foot taller than me, too close, sour beer breath, voice deep and muddled. “get off my back.” pressed to the corner, i’d never felt so tiny. it was like you didn’t recognize me. but the moment passed and i was the adult again. “there’s no way you’re sleeping in this bed. here’s a blanket. you’re on the couch tonight.” i was living off cash, kept all my money in labeled envelopes: rent, food, utilities, emergency, misc/fun. i couldn’t spend much on gifts so one christmas i made you a piñata. it was a hit (get it?) you were playing pretend-poor but we knew it was a game–we knew about your safety net, your wealthy parents with their southern plantation accents and overstuffed furniture. a real punk, that’s what you wanted to be. tattered umbros, mattress on the floor, too-short pants, electric guitar. smoking basics on the porch, drinking high life, driving a jeep with windows that didn’t roll down. one day you’d get tired of us, remember where you came from, and float away. 211224 what's it to you? who go blather from