Ex-Roomie

He thought everything was watching him.
(He never trusted the cat, fer Chrissakes.)
In spite of that, he trusted me.

He hollowed out items to make stashes.
Two years ago I came home to find
he’d hollowed out the cat.

I told him we needed to talk.  
That night he scooped up
all the remaining drugs,

stuffed both our shares of the rent into a red duffel bag,
chose a logo-free ball cap for flight,
and screwed for parts unknown.

I still miss him a little,
maybe even more than a little.  Things
were always hopping when he was around

and he had the hookups
for the good stuff,
the kind bud, the clean pills.  

Every time I pack the dead, dusty cat
with stuff I wanna hide,
I miss his crazy and how it made mine shine.