It was a movie about conflict,
and I was supposed to understand that
this
could happen to anyone.
Not I,
in my dark suede jacket sitting
low on the theater seat
where a Charles, Cindy, or Ron sat once
at least alone.
I belong to them
now, all at once.
And all of a sudden
you were there with a Walkman
listening to Vince Neil
and then country songs about buying her love in an auction because it hurts.
One song had my dad
and I at one golf course
over and over again until this too
hurt, and I wondered
what was I
doing alone driving in a golf cart
again. Ten years old –