Awkward Kids In Love

It's always awkward when I go over there.

"Why am I even here?" I often ask.

"For the beer." My glass responds

"And the weed!" says the bubbler.

A hot white cloud of "Ah..." escapes me.

Sure, sometimes there's a cute girl or two.

Often a good conversation about a cartoon

character or super hero or musical film.

I can usually count on one pretentious

friend who will succeed at draining any

and all enthusiasm from the activities of

the night. He's usually easy to point out.

Deep voice, white-man confidence, angular

face, and an impressive brain capacity.

"I drink Jim Beam Whiskey exclusively."

He says. "Oh give me a break..." rolls my eyes.

It was uncomfortable enough with Johnny's

fragility and suspicions  running all over the place.

But now he's moved to L.A. and the house is

too quiet without his boisterous air to fill the corners.

Still, his props and action figures echo about the shelf space.

This house host heartbreak. First Patrick and Madison

and their inevitable split, with Pats questionable lingering

eccentricity and Mads viking-woman-esque appeal. 

Madison, apparently was too mean for Patricks

flamboyant softness. And Pat was too nice for Mads mean.

I would think that a therapist like Pat would have all the

answers. Break-up and move on was the apparent correct

choice. Johnny and Marnie weren't a match made in Heaven,

but they had their cute moments, I'm sure. Though, 

I was never found of Marn calling Johnny a bitch

in front of his friends, no matter how playful. 

(I certainly wouldn't stand for it)

Their end was in sight, but not for all to see. 

Thus were the inner toils of John and Marnie.

Finally there's Rich and Maig, the match made in military.

Two pale Americans married soon enough yet too soon.

Cute couple until the comedy started.

Rich would open a routine whenever he liked,

Maig would melt in atrophy, patient and sickened.

I would listen, politely, calm, rapt. 

Fascinated with the near predictability of an

evolving romantic fiasco. "They're just kids..."

I start to think, "...just like me. And they want to love

and feel loved like anybody else. Awkwardly,

unconditionally, musically, intimately.

So, why do I come here?" I'm asking again,

taking another sip, exhaling a whiter haze.