my friend skip

kenneth pobo

complains about his wife Raylene—
she’s no good, boring, bad in bed, 
and spends too much. I’ve never met her. 
I tell him to please shut up. He’s 
a commercial that runs several times 
through the night. If I met her, 
I’d say she should divorce his ass 
immediately. Instead, Skip and I watch 
the Cards beat the Phillies 
which soothes him despite three hot dogs 
and slithery cheese fries. We shouldn’t 
be friends. I’m gay and he normally 
thinks of gays as black locust trees
to cut down. Yet when I’m in trouble, 
he’d do anything to help. I cringe 
when people are complicated. 
I want them to be construction paper, 
always the same size.

People are like pots boiling
on a stove. Scalding water 
slobbers all over, 
puddles up on the floor.