Six days before my 13th birthday
I got my first kiss—
I was a cloud of pixie stick dust
and he was skateboard.
He’s even cooler now at 36
living from summer to summer
with his newest lover.
His is under-backwards happiness.
I drove them to Santa Monica
I heard him say to her in Arizona
A thousand miles on one kiss.
Yesterday we talked on the phone
and he said giddily
they might make rent this month
or they might drink it up.
We didn’t say a word about how
I know he’s lost—
sadness is a kind of judgement
and we know better.
Last thing he said was, To find
your dolphin name, lick
your fingertips and rub a balloon.
Like I was still a pixie.
Curtis Blazemore has been on the planet far too long, publishing various works in between having bad luck and making people rethink their faith in humanity. No matter. He sees sentences in the exhaled smoke and scribbles furiously. He hopes someday to be able to afford a Greyhound bus ticket to Graceland.