Dreaming of Dirt

do you remember,
when we were younger?
we used to talk on the phone for hours,
me discovering your boy,
you discovering my girl,

me asking you your favourites
and you saying you couldn't choose
because you didn't want to be unfair
to the other colours.

we talked so long that the boredom
became a silence between us,
the questions repeating with blank recognition,
my admiration for you
compelling me to dial your number
only hours after we hung up the phone.

we used to cuddle on your couch
and say that it was harmless because we were friends,
but it wasn't harmless,
it was sexual,
inviting, inticing,

our boyfriends, girlfriends,
surely would have minded.
where did we become friends,
was it our passion that brought us together,
that makes us still call upon each other,
though we haven't really seen each other in years.

the last time i remember you
it was dark and i was scared,
and we took pictures all night
as we travelled like rogues from one spot to another
with your friends
smoking bongs on the park bench
before leaving advertisements
for your non-profit organization
on the cement, wherever we had a minute to stop
or pose, or think.

my father likes you, i know,
because you didn't flinch when you came into the kitchen,
me surrounded with a pile of leaves,
rolling up relaxation for the evening
some laughs,
conversations, a growing admiration for the people
around us.
he almost got your name the last time he mentioned you,
said oh ya thats right, when i corrected him,
leaned further back in his armchair in the corner.

when i think of you,
i think of a sheep, a fox, and a duck
figurines, and tiny presents
that we gave each other when we decided for one holiday
that we would be jewish,
and the picture i have of you that i say is just like jesus,
even though
you are wearing a trucker company shirt and holding
a joint in your hands.

the last time i saw you,
was nights ago,
when you came across the road delivering a cushion
for both of us,
with your instruments for entertainment,
and a pitcher in your hand.
i hope you like lemonade, you said,
and i do.