by Perry Crowe
Bryan had a mustache
You couldn’t call it
well-kempt
Strays at the top
reached
like blooming century plants
Bryan also had nose hairs
A few intrepid souls
reached down
past the nostril edge
to meet the rising
mustachio strays
The follicle embrace
tickled and pestered
Bryan would dramatically
scrunch and un-scrunch
his face
milk the bottom
of his nose
with his thumb and forefinger
grooming
in the strictest sense
Bryan’s sinuses were shot
He had the sniffles
a lot
He had been breathing brown
air for a decade
But there was also
the pot
Bryan had a job
He worked in an office
Bryan would dramatically
scrunch and un-scrunch
his face
milk the bottom
of his nose
with his thumb and forefinger
sniffle
At his desk
In meetings
In the bathroom
His coworkers
would mimic him
behind his back
And laugh about
how much Bryan
Liked to party
One day
in the break room
Frank
from Accounting
caught Bryan
mid-groom
Frank smiled
sniffed twice
and winked
Bryan made a face
You know, man
Bryan didn’t know
You know, man
coke
Oh
No, no, no
Beer and pot for me, man
Beer and pot
Nothing hard
Frank
was disappointed
‘cause he wanted
some coke
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