Yeah, I know him...

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Yeah, I dated him.
His pockets held dryer-hardened
Receipts, some foreign change,
Water proof matches
For when the world ends.
I put them there when I hugged him
From behind. Curve of intimacy:
Warmth: buffer.

His day timer was empty
But he was always busy, always
Running late for some appointment
But arriving early anyway.

He would hold his palms upward
When frustrated, as if the answer
To his vexation was a gravitous leaf
That would alight upon his hand,
And be read like tea grounds
In the bottom of a cup.

Asthma lungs, chemical sensitivities,
His jumbo-mumble lips
Skewed repetition. And thus, people
Scorned.

Seth saw him yesterday working in the bank.
He had a smile on his face.
The guy who never had anything
Good to say and I remember he once
Promised us he’d be prime minister
Had a smile on his face.

Smug bastard.