Blue-Eyed Boy

And I remember the days walking through the Tenderloin looking at the scattered bodies on the street
The calls from a friend having seen him nodded out and my dog vigilantly standing guard
And each time I swore it would be the last
I always knew where to look, even if it were only to confirm he was still alive

It seemed like forever ago we sat in our sunny kitchen making art and laughing
And I cried too, sometimes for me

Hopeful to wake from the nightmare and to discover he was no longer a zombie
Instead he was a slave to the needles I would sometimes find hidden in the bathroom or tucked neatly away in wooden boxes from places we had once visited when he was alive with promise

What happened to the blue-eyed boy who cried in the store overwhelmed in the aisles?
The skeleton, who once could hold me with his strong arms brightly colored by mementos that held meaning
What happened to the man who brought me flowers in threes and sketched drawings of our future with kittens and trees?

I remember the day I slipped the keys in the door, only to be greeted by our pup, red stains upon her paws and the trail leading from the kitchen
There he was, lying still in a pool
And as I stood over his body so blue, I held my breath feeling shame over wishing it was over
I waited to make the call, knowing the presence of others would remind me this was really happening
Thoughtlessly I removed the tie from his arm and collected the balloon and the spoon
And I watched as they took him away leaving me the stains on the kitchen floor

A Good Day for IT?

I suppose I could declare yesterday a good day for IT. After injuring my back last month I now dedicate a few breaks a day to laying on an ice pack on my office floor. My routine includes closing my door, grabbing my Ipod and propping my legs up in a 90 degree angle on a chair. I perform this ritual thoughtlessly while tapping my feet to the beat of my music. And while my staff isn't privy to my closed-door activity, I found myself "exposed" far beyond my usual inappropriate disclosures when my IT person strolled right into my office.

Now i really don't mind people walking in and I am usually clad in a favorite pair of jeans, but yesterday was anything but typical. Dressed for the heat in a floral skirt, I was relieved I had at least chosen to wear underwear when the computer tech strolled in only to catch me on the floor with my skirt poured down on my stomach. I probably could blame the painkillers for my lack of attention in locking my door and my slow response time in covering myself. I am not quite sure what was more appalling; the sight of me exposed on the floor or the little bit of drool that tends to accumulate in the corner of my mouth while i am in my narcotic-induced stupor.

I am not quite sure who was redder yesterday given both our overuse of the word "sorry". But I am quite sure that today we are both feeling quite akward toward one another despite my return to denim.