I Threw Rocks at Him

I threw rocks at him – I threw rocks at my mate -

his name was Sean

They hit him hard - on his back –

and a few landed against the back of his legs –

as he was walking (then running) away –

he turned back to look at me – he was fucking terrified –

(I still remember his expression) -

his friends turning on him (others were throwing rocks too) –

and I was his friend -

and I responded with anger –

I responded with unrestrained and unfiltered rage

I was a violent youth – a punk boy with an attitude –

hair dyed blue – sometimes black, sometimes neither

Sometimes I claim the violence was beside me or without -

Truth is – it was within me –

Within me all along –

My teenage years were violent – because I was violent –

and violence at that level never leaves you –

even if it remains only as memory

Saturday nights were spent in the grocery store parking lot, asking people to buy alcohol for us –

Adults actually bought alcohol for minors back then –

“Keep the change” and a 21-year-old frat boy would smile –

contributing to the delinquency of minors is a rare artform these days

We did it well - and we never left the parking lot without a 12-pack or a few bottles of Purple Passion (everclear – that shit will fucking kill you)

Me, fucked up – my friends, fucked up – my bitch, I held her beneath my protective anarchist arms, Doc Martens upon my feet –

and I promised her promises I’d never keep –

Then, she’d be on my jock – that’s how it played out –

…that’s how it always played out

My girlfriend – regardless of her name – was always a cunt

Punk-ass bitch, cunt, demanding I pay attention to her –

but I was too often too high, or too drunk, or hanging with my mates –

bitches were for later –

…yeah, I might have been a jerk

Then – at a party at Anthony’s

(there was always a party at Anthony’s - I practically lived there) –

My mate, Sean, caught my eye – and he held it –

and I held it –

And I didn’t know what to fucking do about that –

My bitch on my arm – just about on my jock –

and I’m looking at Sean from across the room…

…

I’m looking at Sean from across the room

…

I’m looking at Sean from across the room…

and neither of us looked away

_____

The room grew silent – though the music still played –

and other teens danced or got high or drunk, or –

or whatever the fuck ever –

the room remained silent – and absolutely still…

…my breathing was labored, suddenly -

The entire planet stopped moving and I wasn’t sure how to process that –

so, I didn’t – I fucking didn’t

No, No, No, No, No, -

That couldn’t have been me – I couldn’t have done that –

a friend of mine that night said he didn’t know whether he hated faggots or niggers more – and I didn’t respond –

I didn’t respond

At that time, I was in love with my best friend – Pat –

Not Patricia – Patrick – his name was and is Patrick –

and I didn’t know how to process that (yet) – so I didn’t –

I fucking didn’t

(on another evening I’ll tell you how I, soon after, split both of my wrists open with a broken, jagged, and sharp twig from a tree in my front yard – a story for another day – blood spilled upon my porch, and I went unconscious) …

I was not to be gay…

I didn’t want it – I didn’t fucking want it

_____

Sean – I’m so sorry – I’m no better than they were –

I was worse – I was you – and I rejected you –

I’m so sorry -

I don’t even know if you’re still alive to be able to read this…

_____

I threw rocks at him –

he was my mate –

I saw myself in his mirror

and I didn’t like it

I didn’t want it -

and I didn’t want anybody to know

I didn’t want anybody to know

_____

So, I threw rocks at him

…I fucking threw rocks at him…

Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.