David Boski writes

Crying Game

I remember my sister saying:

‘David never cries, it’s so weird’

after our father’s funeral—

I stood there watching others

do just that: 

her

my mother 

my cousins

my aunt

his friends 

and 

strangers 

who I didn’t know

or

recognize 

as I fought back

my own

pushing those feelings

deep down

into my guts

hoping that’s where

they’d stay.

I’ve never felt comfortable

crying in front of other people

and even though I’ve done it before—

it’s a sight rarely seen.

It usually happens when I’m alone

and my insides spontaneously combust—

as I stand in the shower; a place I can’t feel my tears.

Sad Shower in New York -- Tracey Emin 

David Boski writes

Dinosaurs Too

you used to download porn on LimeWire

using a dial up internet connection,

watch wrestling when the WWE was still the WWF,

use a Zenith VCR to record movies

off of your gigantic television set,

own a Walkman and after that a Discman;

there are kids out there who have forgotten more

about technology than you have ever known,

you get tired for no reason,

your hangovers are much worse now,

it takes you longer to piss,

and you have greys in your pubic hair;

you can’t get up without having a cup of coffee

or two or three,

sometimes your back hurts

and 

according to WebMD

you’re completely fucked;

plus,

you’re old enough to be 

a father—

to a teenager,

and one time a woman 

at a bar replied 

‘wow that’s old’

after you told her your age

but that’s ok;

cause one day

she’ll be a fucking

dinosaur 

too.

David Boski writes

A cup of coffee

he walked by the room I was painting

and asked me if I wanted a coffee—

I declined.

we were in a vacant rental apartment,

repainting the walls before they installed the new floors.

he was an immigrant from Spain; rough around the edges,

always looking disheveled and tired,

perhaps from working too hard—

or too much.

we had previously met while we both worked for

another company and I brought him on to help me

with a few jobs I had coming up.  

he had a wife and two kids back home

whom he missed dearly—

he said he was working for them,

and sending back money every month.

I heard something in the apartment

and went to see what it was

as I thought he had left to go buy coffee—

and that’s when I saw him on his knees

with a card in his hand

chopping up a white powdery substance

on his phone.

“I thought you were going out for coffee”

‘no, no, coffee, COFFEE!’ he shouted grinning ear to ear

while holding up the phone.

I laughed and nodded,

understanding his plight—

and remembering all those times

I needed a little pick me up

myself.

Cocaine -- Shimon Okshteyn