3 of 30, 2016

Freaks and Geeks

Over eggs a friend

told me about heroin, which

he'd taken for exactly a year

and kicked, just to know it.

He missed the awful way it mutes

the background. No static,

no running commentary:

a yearbook with no inside

jokes written in ballpoint.

The network suits know us

better than we admit, cliques

and eyeballs begging for lies,

laugh tracks, the unities. No money

in speaking a past the wrong people

miss. This is the mystery

of the cult classic: It is right

they take away the best of things

before their arc bends to earth.

And we, earthbound, write

letters, buy boxsets, commiserate

and hallow the few seasons with opiate

love. No one is smart or special enough

to bring anything back. No one

gives a damn about your reputation.

from a prompt by Adina Schoem