blue suits & bloody knuckles
by dominic calderon
the rain is falling. mints, medicine, forgotten birthday presents — all gone. the bed is empty.
has the roof defrosted? is our silence still carbonated? can you hear my tears through the stucco? does the door need olive oil again? just tell me & i’m happy to fix it.
it’s cold & adam sandler holds you. he is so short & his pants are so big. still, he is so much stronger than you; stronger than me. the zohan. boucher. big daddy. what i’m trying to say is: adam sandler would love you like no one else. adam sandler would shatter the jaw of any man who dared disappoint you. adam sandler would parlay his house & kids just to buy you a new dress. i want to be strong like adam, tough like adam, but i am so small & i know so little. i know nothing but adam’s mustache, sweating in the sunlight as he guides me off to college, the two of us laughing as he limps into the subaru. i live between broken knuckles & fake veneers, but with sandler it’s a home.
it’s 1985 & adam serenades us with a song that goes i never knew you, you never knew me, under the rain we love each other like it’s a first date.