We do not have friendship,
or your banal Tupperware parties.
You do not pout your lips in
sympathy when thoughts
my china doll bite your cheeks.
We do not plan swing-slide
for little skinny
I do not smile and nod
as silly intoxication drags
misery out of your voice anymore.
But, you are my friend, soberly watching
for Raccoon feces, while your
husband throws the TV at you.
Once, I watched with clean eyes, while his dirty
ones stabbed you
with a sharp
Your voice never drags that up when
you are sober,
you only speak about the Raccoon’s.