January 2005 / Volume VI / Issue I
Shane Allison

What I Remember About Jarret

I remember when I first saw you. You were wearing dark
shades.
I think you said hello to me, but I paid you no
attention & wondered who the hell you were.

I remember black hair that was somewhat curly.

I remember your lips.
I remember white, freshly printed out poems on a desk.
I remember you took my dragon journal and wrote me a
check for sixteen dollars.

I remember regretting cashing that check.
I remember great big handwriting.
I remember low quiz scores written in red ink.

I remember you saying something about wanting to stick
your dick between the tits of young freshman girls.

I remember asking you if you were into fat chicks
I remember eating sandwiches at Schlotsky’s.
I remember a black toenail in sandals.

I remember being kicked out of the office.
I remember boxes upon boxes of undistributed literary
magazines.

I remember the picture of a woman on a green cover
eating an apple.

I remember calling and asking, “Did you get any hits?”
I remember the endless lists of magazines you got
published in.
I remember being a little jealous of all the magazines
you got published in.

I remember you calling and telling me you found a
publisher for Monster
Fashion, and how happy and excited I was for you.

I remember the smell of honey mustard and the sight of
an empty
Chicken Mcnugget box. (I was sure Todd left it).

I remember a box filled with fat envelopes of poetry
submissions.
I remember walking in on you with your shirt off.
I remember how quickly you put it back on when you saw
it was me.

I don’t quite remember the day you left Tallahassee.
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