Mary's Garden
Some people make lists.
Some people knit.
My friend, Mary,
She liked to garden.
Some people bake.
Some people paint.
Some people fuck like rabbits.
I write.
“Who are you hoping will hear it?”
Mary doesn’t garden
Because the plants will be noticed
By her parents, or boyfriend,
or some stranger over the internet.
Last October,
My friend Luke stole my shirt
And wore it around on Halloween,
And told everybody
That he was me.
He made a better me than I did.
Because at least
He thought he knew who he was.