san francisco

Riding skateboards in your ex school parking lot, we circle each other and talk about age. Your beer is stale and we miss the youth we were too shy to live.

Your father says your neighbor is dead. How? Train. You grow cold as stone and drive into the city. I wish I could taste your teeth to know the lives you’ve lived.

At dinner, your mother talks too much and your brother is wearing mascara. Your father has an opium grin. I stare at my plate, listening to the scrapes of forks against china my family could never afford.

Photo credit: soleir