Within days, our small community stiffed and spiked.
Words got glaringly precise: assault, penetration, victims.
Your familiar face stormed our minds, and changed shape.

When it was all laid out to me, it seemed something you’d
be stupid enough to do, but I couldn’t imagine you meant
harm. But who cares if you meant it. It was done. And so,

meetings are held, letters are drafted and passed around,
pledges made, as I try to keep track of it all with a leaking chest.
My partner confesses, I don’t want to know half this stuff.

Friend says, Isn’t alcoholism the elephant in the room?
I mean, would stuff like this happen if everyone wasn’t
so hell bent on getting trashed all the time.

Still other friend says, Don’t ask why. Just listen.
So we listen, her thin voice trembling, her eyes
shrugging out hot tears, one by one by one.