Listen, that room
had the sound of a hundred voices
that night. None of them I knew.
None of them I wanted to know.
In that room, they were loud
angry voices.
But voices that, from a distance
looked radiant, bursting
on the horizon like a glow, like a
sunset or
a house burning down. From the distance
those voices were beckoning, welcoming
enchanting, from a distance.

But listen, when I got closer
they changed. I realized sometime after
my fourth beer that
they were more drunk than me
and they were stronger than me
and they were at home here
and I was lost.
I’d come with the drummer
Because his girlfriend was too drunk
to drive or
be much fun in the back room. I
didn’t know there was a back
room until too late.

Listen, of course I should know
better. I should
know how weak I am how strong
they are when they’re all together
like that. I could never
have gotten away. Where
would I have gone? The back
room is mostly all I remember
about that night. That and the ride
home from the drummer. His knife
in my face, my face in his lap, his girlfriend
passed out in the back seat.

Listen, you don’t want to know
about this. Forget it.