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One Summer Day Before the needle shuddered in his arm. Before the bent spoon, bent back, the strap. Before complaining veins. Before a procession of scabs jeweled his flesh. Before his half-lidded chase for what couldn’t be caught. Before sepsis and Hep C. Before the trampled path into the woods behind Sav-A-Lot. Before unforgiving rain, endless snow, blistering heat. Before donated blankets and gloves, shoplifted sunblock. Before the cardboard sign held up to passing cars. Before waiting for someone to toss their cigarette as they entered a store so he could snatch it, bring it to his lips and dry hump it back to life. Before long sleeves in summer and pawn tickets stashed under football trophies. Before the oxy parties. Before the root canal. The script. The refills. Before ashes, ashes, we all fall down. There was a boy who loved his skateboard, how it took him where he wanted to go, to all that might have been.
2020
