Not a poem.  Just words.

I'm nobody's poet.  Just somebody's friend.

We shared the best of times, Joker, you and me.

Moose and Dickie and Pickle ran with us too,

But my wingman and me more alike than they.

A shoulder, a heart.  The fiercest friendship I've known.

Knuckles meant for me, intercepted by you.

Knuckles meant for you, intercepted by me.

Knuckles meant for you, thrown by me.

Knuckles meant for me, thrown by you.

But we always rolled together.

And we always ruled together.

In Partyland the jester wears the crown. 

Subjects gathered to hear us riff

And riff we did on all things. 

whatever got the laugh, 

whatever drew the crowd,

whatever spread their legs.  And spread they did.

We rapped funny, funny lines

some wrapped in racism, some wrapped in hate.

Made me die inside...everytime

But there they were--the EYES on us.

Admiring eyes of freshman minions,

knaves and cads that filled our beer.

And Mascara-lined eyes

that rolled all the while they laughed

Mascara-lined eyes that never left us.

And the maiden legs we spread, Joker.

They all said they wanted a man that made them laugh.

Sure, we sold our souls, but it was worth it

What price a tootsome wench and an ale?

Later....alone

I cried the tears of a clown

Tears for those who could never come to our kegger.

For those whose blood was used to write our words in the air

The words we used, "nigger," "bitch," "dyke," "fag,"

We knew the drill,

shock value kills this crowd.

But those words really kill, too.

Not that we ever MEANT anything.

No, no, no--all in fun.

I will not detail the pennace I gave myself.

I will not ask forgiveness for a misspent youth.

Who gives a flying fuck about my white guilt?

For a long time, I died inside.  Just that.

So, Joker,

in the Swamp, then the Pit

we lived together

and I thought we died,

each alone as men do,

but together.

But I guess I was just dying alone.

Ten years after, twenty years after...

I saw him today at the reception

The same words, the same people's blood in the air.

But no manchild killing at a party

This time just killing.

You really hate.  Still.  Always.

And I hate you now.

I hate you for

every brown child I ever taught

the gay kids in my theatre program

the children you raise in a house of hate

every woman on Earth

  myself.

I hate you with cold distance.

I hate you in my reflection.

And I love you fiercely.

Never talk to me again.