The Doctor (Pepper) is full of Whiskey

Remember all those greeting cards we searched through
at the Duane Read on the corner of 58th and 9th ave?
Remember how they all had relatively cheesy pictures
drawn in relatively cheesy colors,
and when you opened it
the inside was so corny that you wanted to use
the sharp adhesive sealed edge of the off-white
envelope to slice
open your eyeballs
as if to say
“I’ve seen it all now,
there’s nothing left
for me to witness
with these.”
?

That’s how I felt
when I spoke with my red haired friend tonight
about my (receding) brown haired friend.
I felt as if all these conversations
were reflections
of memories
of dropped pocket lint
which was only once
a part of some chic tapestry.

Nevertheless,
he is a mess
and I am
redundant.

Right now,
I hope he is okay
in his stupor.
I hope the night finds him
dancing
with someone he can recollect the name of.
I hope his smile
lasts
at least until he makes it into bed.
and I hope that sunrise finds him
breathing
and in awe
of everything he has.