The teeth of our boots punch small archipelagos into the snow, there is a cavity for everywhere I’ve been until winter does its work again. What you can map into something profound about erasure I can only pronounce as Tuesday. I have no date to the dance and what’s new about that really? I am neither rich nor white nor do I play hockey and so the white girls I’m lusting for think of me more as their favorite brick in a wall they lean against sometimes to gossip. I don’t want them so much as I want what they have to offer. Out at the cabins people have sex, often. I watched Joey tease a girl for losing her virginity and she went so red I remembered that she had blood, so red she was a siren rouging the whole sky, so red I could never not see her again. I would like to be seen, for that I’d trade my virginity, for that I’d trade anything on my body.

Leaning against the collapsible wall at the party whose purpose I can’t remember the other Black dude tells me he misses when it was cool to be Black. Late again to my own desire I sip my punch, nod, watch this little symphony unfold where I can watch people steal outside and just be grateful for the inescapable bass. Disturbia is playing in this culdesac and I think I’m thinking about football which I play now so that I can have a hoodie to give to a girl and a body beneath perpetually mid-flex, a little neighborhood of muscle with all the doors unlocked. I was kind of an asshole honestly. Anyway, other Black dude is still talking about some raw shit he got into last week with this girl from Wayzata who is now in the hallway making out with the white boy with the wet j from my school’s basketball team. I don’t really have a reason to be here, I don’t have a reason to be anywhere. I curse the moon, not its distance, but for its audacity to return at all. I don’t belong here, borrowing glimpses of a face under the colored glow, none of the light stays. The moon grows a fat white neon just beyond the window where a boy is now half clothed as if it is isn’t like, two degrees outside. The moon is a better codeswitcher than I am, this all makes me irrationally upset.