poem of the day 08.20.13

spilt milk

we were both locked into

a fraudulent dogma

freshman in an all-boys catholic high school

with no pussy in sight

not that any girl would fuck either of us anyway

marcel funke and me

two boys from the old lawrenceville neighborhood

who hadn’t seen each other in twelve years

enemy combatants from the infant days of reagan

me kicking his ass some days

and he biting a piece of my arm off the next

set to rekindle our little war

but the kids in high school were indifferent to me

while most of them hated marcel

in class, they’d put shit like gum on his seat

or gave him wet willies in the ear

at lunch he got hit with projectile food

french fries and unwanted carrot and cheese sticks

was spit on during our recess time

as the class of us were forced to walk the ancient quadrangle

to try and change his image

marcel singled me out one day in the cafeteria line

he tried to start a fight

by telling everyone that he used to kick my ass

in the old neighborhood

this didn’t faze me too much

but i said, all right, marcel

and i used to catch you in the bathrooms at arsenal park

sniffing and licking davy krokus’ asshole

which wasn’t true

but everyone believed me anyway

some of my classmates used it as something new

to ostracize old marcel with

much to my chagrin

he never came back for sophomore year

but the one real memory that i do have of marcel funke

was the time he stormed out of his house naked

pouring out a gallon of whole milk onto the street

as he ran around in circles chanting

no one cries over spilt milk

no one cries over spilt milk

while his mother screamed bloody murder

and tried to cover him with a towel

it was the most perfect insanity that i’d ever seen

up until that point

and to this day when i’m feeling low rent

yet somewhat remorseful

i sometimes think

maybe i should’ve used that anecdote

on him

instead.