New Race

You were red-faced drunk
in your blue Andean cap
I was right there with you
dressed in a suit
of black gold armor
I was releasing some evil
that had stashed itself
somewhere below pelvic bones
We clambered and negotiated
the winter night
with tales about autumn
The red-haired girl returned—
I recognized her music
And you sang along
not knowing the stories
we'd both lived through
A man, skunk-haired,
met us on crutches
and we drank absinthe on pillows,
all the while staring
at the parakeet
your missing cat would soon eat
This was the new race
we'd been training for
past and future welded together
in some unknown metal shop
steel embedded within it
to make it sturdier,
this past and future on which
we both could agree
was our own