like a stone
I leave the Christmas matinee
after five. Clouds sparse and dark
blue, fierce wind kicking up
from the North. Last night I rented
Midnight Cowboy, hoping it wasn’t
a mistake. The first time
I saw it I was spending the night
with my closest friend, who lived
in the dorm. Some guys
trapped me in the men’s toilets,
blocking the door, forcing the air
from my lungs. But how could I
not watch again, with goofy Joe
Buck, cowboy hustler who cares
too much to earn genuine coin
for sex, and Ratso hobbling
(like Amahl or Tiny Tim)
and that inconsolable harmonica
and Nilsson dragging me
to endless aching? How badly
I need Christmas this time
around. Something to keep me
from slugging myself. Ratso
follows me like a cozy shadow,
all crumby and disgusting. If only I
could kiss him on the mouth again
and again, crash the showers
in the men’s dorm and lather him
tenderly. If only I could go back.
If only my buddy had said
something. Just something.
Copyright © Christopher Soden | Year Posted 2026
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