The consequences of his actions were extreme
but he didn’t seem to mind.
"Look," he would say
hitting his head against the wall
smiling slightly,
"No feeling!"

Some earlier accident left him
quite literally
a numbskull
but you could emotions writ easily
across his face
when he played music he found awesome
or told a story he thought cool.

He had a lot of each of those.

His room
was a hive
around which many buzzed
and I
tried an occasional flyby.

He may have introduced me
to the Sex Pistols
or I may have found them on my own.

It was quite a while ago
and he’s probably found
even more things to care about
than songs and stories
and girls.
I would know
if we were still in touch.