Tyler

He called me on the phone, out of the blue,
(A sudden after-thought I’m sure)
He was gone, tired (or so I thought)
And then a silence fell: static
The deadline, the flat line
"Quick Nurse, call the doctor!"
"Quick Nurse, I think he’s gone."
(The chaos makes their fast dance faster,
Slower now watch out for the—)

"I’m high," he tell me flat, gone, nonchalant
Like the awkward wave you give a stranger or
The store owner who thinks you’re only there for trouble.
It catches me, his voice, his laughter
And reels me in, and somehow I feel duped,
The naive fish that took the worm,
But it isn’t even a struggle:
"You’re high"
"Yes, I forgot I had some."
"But –"
"It was there, in my sock drawer.2.5 grams, gone, rolled, and in me."

But it’s a Wednesday night and
We have school in the morning.

The pause.

I’m sorry and hurt and sad
And I don’t really understand.
"I have to go" he says.
I’m not really surprised.
The line goes dead (there’s no good-bye)

"Doctor, come quick!"
The flash of footsteps the door swings wide:
"Clear!" he waits and then again "Clear!"
Silence, nothingness, seconds, moments minutes
(Wash, rinse, repeat – it’s so commercialized now
So commercial and oh so sterile.)

"I’m sorry Miss, we’ve lost him."