Kid(s), a poem by Adam Common, poet

Kids

1. You’d lift your skirt to your knees

To make the climbing easier.

Your hands were rough,

And your face all smudged up;

Grass in your stupid hair,

And in my stupid hair.

We were wilder kids, dumb ‘n dopey,

Smarter than the smart, because

Just because. And we could run,

And fight, fly, and fail, and fall.

And man, didn’t you show me

How to fall the hardest.

2. The crash and wallop turned ache,

The longer kind of unhappy days.

Your skin was cool

And your face all washed out.

Tired, you slept days away,

I waited days away

And we were quieter kids, sad and sorry,

Drifting ignorant, because

Just because. What did we know?

What hope could hope provide?

And man didn’t you show me

How hopeless I could be?

3. Your room seemed to hollow then;

Walls further apart that before,

The corners darker,

And much more of a home.

We watched films, while

I watched you thin

And we were emptier kids, pale and shallow,

Waiting time away, because

Just because. What else was there?

What useful time remained?

And man, didn’t you show me

How precious time could be?

4. So I learn a loneliness

That would follow me forever.

My hands turned rough,

My face all wrinkled up;

Grey in my stupid hair,

And in my stupid heart.

Made a wild kid, dumb and dopey,

More ignorant than smart, because

Just because. And I would run,

And fight. I would fly, fail, and fall

With no safety net to catch me,

But I wouldn’t be bruised at all,

Because you were gone,

And so went weakness.

And man, didn’t it make me

Weaker than before?

5. The “you” would appear in dreams at first,

Distant, watching from where I couldn’t reach,

Eyes wide. Furious. Accusing.

But It had been given life by what?

Madness. That empty space filled

With you. Your face. Your voice and smell.

Your hate, your taunting laugh

Making a mockery of your memory.

I’d wake and collapse in on myself,

A broken bubble, guts a dying star,

And I’d begin to fear

What else sleep might take from us.

But It showed me it was stupid,

Like I am stupid, and had returned

To the living, waking world just for my eyes

And for my benefit alone.

Seventeen years of this. The “you” exists.

It ages. It changes and I forget

What you looked like when we were wilder kids,

And how you were when you were really alive.

And I was just a kid, rapt and grateful,

Horrified and broken by the chance

To make clear that I cared for you

In that awful, mediocre way

That a kid like me is capable of.

My best friend. My only friend.

And It listened, and It smiled,

And the smile is only cruel.

And man, don’t I wish
You would die.

Roadside, a poem by Adam Common, poet

Stop here. Eat well. Welcome.

This is a transient place

And I am in it.

There are regulars, though not many.

I’ve seen them before.

Dust up to their knees,

They have the breakfast.

From the window, I see no sky.

I see no distant horizon.

Only the mountain, and the lights,

And a cloud that consumes the earth

In the same tired way it always has.

I order four on reflex. Too much,

But I’ll eat it regardless.

I feel that soft warmth in my hands,

And it’s like a memory, only tastier.

I pay gladly, tip well

And drive toward where the sun should be.

I’ll come again soon.

5. Kid(s) Coda

5. The “you” would appear in dreams at first,
Distant, watching from where I couldn’t reach,
Eyes wide. Furious. Accusing.
But It had been given life by what?

Madness. That empty space filled
With you. Your face. Your voice and smell.
Your hate, your taunting laugh
Making a mockery of your memory.

I’d wake and collapse in on myself,
A broken bubble, guts a dying star,
And I’d begin to fear
What else sleep might take from us.

But It showed me it was stupid,
Like I am stupid, and had returned
To the living, waking world just for my eyes
And for my benefit alone.

Seventeen years of this. The “you” exists.
It ages. It changes and I forget
What you looked like when we were wilder kids,
And how you were when you were really alive.

And I was just a kid, rapt and grateful,
Horrified and broken by the chance
To make clear that I cared for you
In that awful, mediocre way
That a kid like me is capable of.
My best friend. My only friend.
And It listened, and It smiled,
And the smile is only cruel.

And man, don’t I wish “you’d” die.

4. Kid, a poem by Adam Common, poet

4. So I learn a loneliness
That would follow me forever.
My hands turned rough,
My face all wrinkled up;

Grey in my stupid hair,
And in my stupid heart.

Made a wild kid, dumb and dopey,
More ignorant than smart, because
Just because. And I would run,
And fight. I’d fly, fail, and fall
With no safety net to catch me,
But I wouldn’t be bruised at all,
Because you were gone,
And so went “weakness.”

And man, didn’t it make me
Weaker than before?