The Ringleader

I told the story like it was a grand performance,

waiting for the dinner table to break into a grin.

I described the height of the gym roof’s prominence,

and how we decided his breathing was a sin.

But the new friend across from me didn’t laugh,

she just stared at her wine like it was a crime.

I saw myself through her, the jagged half

of a kid who liked to steal another person’s time.

I can still hear the inhaler hit the gravel,

a hollow, plastic 'clack' on the dirty ground.

It’s a thread of my history I’m starting to unravel,

realizing how much I loved the silence of that sound.