Poem: The Last Time I Saw Richard

This poem is true. True 'Blue' mate.

No Joni Mitchell song, if it had been playing,
he would have turned it off; said ‘what’s that
faggot shit?’ or just played some Guns n Roses.

He wasn’t even meant to be there – it was my birthday.
I hadn’t invited him. A well-meaning mutual friend
wanted everything to be okay for all of us. But

that wasn’t going to ever be the case again –  it
ended with Richard holding me against the wall.
He hit me twice, and I took those hits, refusing

to get involved any further. I told him to hit me -
and he did. As if it could ever prove anything, for
either of us. He ran from the room. Tears of rage,

and for a split second, I felt sorry for him. Then my
face really started to hurt. I found the Joni Mitchell
record, put it on – and we tried to continue the party.

I’ve always liked in-jokes where I’m the only one
that gets it. It wasn’t worth taking the hits of course.
But all these years later, it’s one hell of a punchline

.