I'm going to write a story called, "I forgot where you said you were from"
it'll be a sort of relationship, subtle-drama
the kind where nothing happens
I came outside without any pants on
to think about it
and to hear the thunder
and my glasses fogged up immediately
but the storm was over, of course
I can hear an argument across the street
a guy is saying to another, You don't have any friends. Doesn't it bother you that you don't have any friends?
he's saying, No one likes you! You're a fucking asshole!
I can hear a train whistle somewhere close by.
when I lived in Portland, I had one friend
his name is George
he thought writing poetry and writing fiction was a waste of time.
reading it, too.
he told me that he'd had a friend,
back when he had friends
who had promised herself that she'd never
live in a place
that didn't have a clawfoot tub
and she'd never live in a place
where she couldn't hear trains running by.
I thought then, as I do now
that these are good rules
but I haven't been able to live by them
until now.
now I live there.
I'm going to get up early and I'm going to write a story
because I can't think of a reason
why I shouldn't
