St. Reuben Who's Never Been Kissed
St. Reuben is the patron saint of being thirteen and having an embarrassing erection
at the chalkboard. He is also the patron saint of skirt-lifting and didn't make it long
as a Disney Channel caricature. It's not funny. It's hilarious how life on T.V.
is more mellifluous than the way anyone lived it. The pink sun nursed over the horizon
at six in the morning, ascending into painful love. Nothing you could even exaggerate into magic.
The amp yawning into the "on" position, the body-snatchers doing their thing.
The repeated requests for your body in particular went unanswered. The auditorium
bleachers became a tomb and, in lieu of graduation, folded forward like a Labrador's tongue.
And while St. Reuben continued to claw his way down the Nielsen's after an episode
where he was caught reading "Busty Asian Beauties, " you said I acquired a knack
for attracting girls in thick mirror glasses. You said, there are more forms of vanity
than you know and nothing like magic. I said I'm tired of the machines
who exist only to instruct us about our lives and hold our hands while we're ill.
I worry that these kisses might never amount to a soul. About you
who lifted eyes like a saint, taking up your life like a holy relic
leaving it behind.
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