Poetry: Don Hogle
After I read 1st Corinthians 13 at your wedding,
I replaced Faith, Hope and Love with Sex, Drugs
and Rock-n-Roll in my toast during the reception
at the Ukrainian National Home. The band kicked in
at the end right on cue, while Todd, our colleague
from the shithole where we worked, dealt Quaaludes,
palming a couple to me each time I sold a few.
I’m told I collapsed on the dance floor in the arms
of the groom and wept about leaving New York
for New Mexico. I came to––in Coney Island––
with the wives of two college buddies and
your straight friend from Chicago whom I blew
back at my apartment. Of course I’ll pick you up
after your oral surgery; what are friends for?