for the monster
because he laughs at your jokes
he calls you by your first name
asks about the family
says he understands
and there you are
nodding along
like a dog waiting on scraps
you say he’s misunderstood
everyone has blood somewhere
the world needs tough men
but at 3 a.m.
you sweat through clean sheets
because you know:
you walked into darkness,
coat pressed, smile rehearsed
sweathands damp and eager
you grew comfortable
with the smell of gasoline,
called it cologne
how much of him
rubbed off on you
when you shook his hand?
and why
does it still
feel good?
