Christopher Cadra ~ Bub

Rackham Peter Pan

 

Bobby Roberts, aka Bub, aka Bobby Bobs,
Died last night. He was twenty-four years old.
A bit overweight but otherwise healthy.
People called him Bub because that’s how he pronounced Bob.
It was never really clear if he was in on the joke.
(Others called him Bobby Bobs for a more obvious reason.)

Bub wasn’t the dumbest guy. He was just a little off.
No one could really explain how or why. He just was.
In social situations, he was generally drunk and aloof,
But not shy. If someone talked to him, he talked back,
And if a subject he was interested or knowledgeable in
Came up, he could talk for an hour, at a rapid speed.

Everyone liked Bub. He had friends, lived downtown
With a couple of those friends, and though he wasn’t
A ladies’ man, he’d managed to date a girl or two.
He was pretty painfully awkward with women,
But in a teddy bear kind of way…
It wasn’t that he was anxious, rather confused,
Like a middle-school kid who’s for the first time
Talking with adult intentions to a pretty girl,
Still a bit baffled about what those intentions are.
Last night, when Bobby Roberts died, he was single.

Bub and his roommates decided they would stay in,
But they wanted company. They wanted to party a bit,
So they called the right people, and only the right people,
Which meant free beer, free coke, and some women
Would be brought over. Out there, at Bub’s place,
That was the unspoken trade between the hosts and guests.
If Bub and the guys lent their apartment to party at,
The guests had to bring the party supplies.

When Bub’s heart stopped beating,
Moments before midnight,
There were no frantic calls to the police.
No one even realized that he was dead.
Bub drank too much, is what they all figured,
Passed out. And so, they kept on partying.

It wasn’t a large party, rather small.
There were only about a dozen people in the apartment.
Everyone was to a greater or lesser extent drunk.
About half of them did cocaine to ward off exhaustion.
Each one of them noticed Bub passed out on the couch,
But even as two o’clock in the a.m. rolled around,
Not one of them realized he was passed out for good.
Someone took a magic marker and drew dicks on his face.
That got a few laughs and some pictures posted to Facebook.

It wasn’t until late this morning, about noon,
That one of Bub’s roommates thought something wrong.
And it wasn’t until the EMTs arrived that Bub was pronounced dead.
Likely an overdose of the pills they found in a bottle beside his bed.

 

Christopher Cadra is an editor at The Literati Quarterly (thelitq.com). His work will be featured in the upcoming summer issue of The Cimarron Review. Read more of Christopher’s poetry in DM98 ~ Pasticcerie.
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