as I whip this borrowed car into the nursing home parking lot,
remembering it's connected to the strip mall
with the Little Caesar's where I'm picking up three pizzas
to feed a mix of people who have never spent time together.
college friends, former fuck-ups, current junkies,
Brian, Bryan, comedians, poets, and con artists,
all stuck in time; the weed is being passed,
the booze is passing me by, for all I consume
is cheese and caffeine these days.
I was borne here in Orlando,
but I was sculpted by NYC,
just a clown prince of visceral poetics,
and a penchant for people watching,
especially when I know the people.
I am not good, but I keep going,
as the 20th Century Fox logo hits
with the loud orchestral soundtrack,
and we are in the opening credits of something special:
movie night with mixed company.
there are cookies in the oven,
and I curl up under a t-shirt blanket with Erin,
in a papasan chair, her and I,
in the same city for the first time since 2009,
when we had sex in her grad school bed.
an old film projector, a patio full of people,
all pretending it doesn't matter,
but it does, because we are in the middle
of our lives, trying our best
to hold on...for dear life.
that evening, Erin and I sleep together—
not sex, just snuggling in the same bed—
and it is nice, but like all things it won't last,
because she has to fly back to Seattle tomorrow,
and I miss NYC like an abusive lover.
see you in another 15 years, she says,
and I say "Deal!" but then she says something
I will never forget for all of my days...
"keep making magic, Ryan Buynak,"
and the use of my full name slays me like a dumb dragon.
I am still a little boy inside,
being wowed by beautiful women,
and taken aback by impossible moments,
that make up the recipe for nostalgia,
appreciated like wine—only with aging.