There he sat
like a defeated Greek god
stuck in the photo forever:
the kid whose heart I broke
stroke and stroke again
weekend after weekend
without even knowing it
shining with sweat and red
in the face
sitting on the standard dorm room futon
that graced my first apartment
with my father's borrowed acoustic
in his lap and the remnants of a bottle
of Southern Comfort at his side
and if that's not enough to remind oneself
that there are stranger fates in this world
than those found in any book on one's shelf
than I'm a red-assed baboon with a keyboard.
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