T H A N K S G I V I N G

Thank you for permitting me to pick up fallen coins from under your bed or to wipe stains off the sink and the toilet lid — I ’ m obsessive this way—and for pouring bitter substances down my throat or directing them through my veins with assurances and a needle; whatever it took to take me on vacation from real life. Thank you for every sex-tape and for calling all your friends to join in and for lying that I had to stay because the party wouldn’t be the same without me. Thank you for not knowing that I hooked up with the others who swam into the net of my body instead of yours. Thank you for finding out and inviting me back anyway. Thank you for paying for everything from the hotel to the lube to the takeaway and also, at times, for making me pay. Thank you for the music: unmemorable songs on the radio or the calypso of our fucking tuned to the evening’s shifting key — from major to minor then something in between. Thank you for you