For example, no man can wear beige
and remember the taste of the sun. Look,
Jim, just because you went to private

school doesn’t excuse you from a responsibility
to understand physics. It doesn’t matter how
good you look in lacrosse shorts when they

come to reclaim the fields. Sweat soured
on skin like a father’s gaze. A bell that never
stops ringing. I want to laugh like we used

to, talking shit about the pines. Maybe
you’re right, Jim. Maybe there’s nothing
but quiet cars. The flimsy logic of regret.

There’s a certain way of forgetting
that happens every night when you try
to catalogue what remains. It has to do

with never going into the kitchen,
which is the best way of keeping
the floor clean.

– CL Bledsoe