Ravenous Blue

						—in memory of Scott Prather

We drive up to visit you, talking about school and work,
we don’t say you’ve gone blind, we don’t talk about AIDS.
In your mother’s living room, you sit on a chair
with blue foam padding, your body too thin to bear
its own weight. I keep looking at the blue,
ravenous blue, remember? We were stoned and running
up and down the aisles of the beauty supply store,
looking for hair color, when I saw RAVENOUS BLUE,
and fell in love with the name.
You tried to talk me out of it, but we dyed
my hair from blond to blue, and shortly after,
young boys in leather started trying to pick me up,
mistaking me for a young thrasher.
The color was so dark, we couldn’t cover it,
so we just laughed until it grew out, but
now we’re here, just us and this pressing air,
your wide, blind stare, the words we don’t say,
and I’m so sorry we are here,
and this is you,
dying.

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Listen to a reading of the poem.