Manny Furious

Old Wounds

Ten years ago
I graduated from high school.
One of twenty seniors
sitting in two rows
in the school gym
as one of our teachers
gave the commencement speech. I was an average
as should be evident by my average
poetry. But my whole future was ahead
of me supposedly and I was expecting
to be whatever my mind
could conceive of. Wonderful
that afternoon we had a barbecue
outside of Lone Wolf's father's art
studio. We ate fajitas and I performed
one-armed pushups in an attempt
to impress some of the girls who had
shown up
mostly Sophomore and Junior
girls. My math teacher
stopped by briefly
and gave me a date book
or a calandar
or whatever they're called
and later that night
high off of my own life's potential
I made out with Nyna Portman
at her home in one of the public
housing sections
of Rio Frio. Her sister and Lone Wolf
and Pedolo and Milo and El Crow
were there
we were just hanging out, laughing
enjoying the company.
Nyna and I sat on the couch drinking lightly
and kissing occasionally.
'Hooking up' for the first time
after years of toying with the idea
not out loud
but subtly
our interactions
over the years saying more
than any words. A good release of that tension
and my good friend Chongo stopped by at one point
to try to convince her
to stop by his graduation party
but she demurred
and we had a fine night. One of the best nights of my life.
It was a good start
to the rest of my life
or so I thought. And after midnight
after watching one too many movies
but not yet quite too many beers
I ran home
and was chased by a trio of stray
mutts, but I was
fast back then and after about
they gave up. I made it home and slept
the last truly good night of sleep
I can remember.

It feels like a completely different
person. Like remembering a movie
or the images
at the words of someone else's story.
Not my memories, but yours
perhaps. You lucky bastard.
Hopefully all your stupid-ass
expectations came to pass.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Topic of this poem: nostalgia


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