drafted 2/22/2024, posted February 24, 2025
For S.
shoulder to shoulder our backs to the wall
your pull-out couch bed and altars stacked
to the ceiling we watched Priscilla: Queen
of the Desert on your laptop in your parents’
garage apartment the same apartment they
would not help you clean dirty only
because you were dying
in spite of this we planned
what we would see next time
still sometimes I imagine the robot
you planned to build
from the cardboard you took
from the mouths
of storm drains
lurches itself from the corner
where you kept it like a retired school bus
in an untended yard
in the half-light leviathan
it shakes its limbs it rattles awake
I hope it haunts everyone who refused
to help you because you saw so clearly
they were afraid