Seven Minutes in ‘99 Heaven//Spencer Silverthorne

We buy too much Code Red.

It doesn’t take a second
for the dye to hit our tongues,
but takes a minute or two
to ring our mouths.

You put yours up
under my nose, to see if
it could really happen,
but cherry is a cover

for the breath we cannot know.
It’s a game we call Fraternity —
I could see you joining one.

I hate being a teenager in 1999.
I start stealing Merit Ultra Lights
from your mom’s purse.

The real sin is that I spritz her No. 5
to piss off shock jocks
and be the punchline
in last semester’s gay jokes.

Sorry your mom still makes you my friend.
Sorry I got into Bikini Kill this year.
Something tells me you like that one song.
Something tells me you find killjoys hot.

Your dad said I couldn’t come with you
to Truro, you mumbled about those florals
that followed me and some need to stick to family.

I spend too much time spacing out
in Mass, hoping you would show up,
instead of Jesus, another thing I can’t
admit to my mom, but yours called mine.

Spencer Silverthorne is an Assistant Professor of English at the University of North Carolina at Pembroke where he teaches poetry, editing, and composition. His work has been published in Action, Spectacle, Black Warrior Review, Maudlin House, Screen Door Review, and elsewhere. He lives in Fayetteville, NC.