Jason

 

mdmorrissey, 1994 (http://www.mdmorrissey.info/jason ). Please distribute widely (thanks!).

 

"It don't make a goddam bit of difference," Jason says,

hunched forward, elbows on his knees,

staring out my attic window

where I survive. 

But what is he waiting for

if not for me?

 

His speckled flesh, once abundant

(you couldn't tell he lifted weights)

droops on his bones. 

He's smaller, and his face is lined

like jungle trails, leading nowhere,

a map with no names,

a story with no end.

 

His hair, longer now,

hangs over the collar of his field jacket,

no longer flaming, burning darker

like a sun that won't go down.

 

I watch his back

and he watches mine.