Oh, look, more poetry.

[apocalypsos]

(For the record, I'm the unexpected guest/jerk in this one. We had to write from the POV of someone else.)

Unexpected Guest

You pop up on my doorstep too late for polite company, unfolded
and tattered in unwashed clothes, still perfumed
in eau du Burger King.

You fall apart in my arms like a
badly pasted paper doll, a waterfall of snotty tears in girl form.
We've only met twice before.

Yes, now that you mention it, this is awkward.

You ring your parents – Yes, Mom, still alive. No, Mom,
not coming back.
You hang up, then tell stories of things that fly, like
fists and words and heavy rolltop desks.

We're friends in the binary sense, but I usher you
to the spare bedroom, the one with a
guttered mattress.

I'm sure you won't mind.

You can eat whatever you want. Finish off my
husband's favorite cereal, why don't you?
Swallow up my free time – gorge on it, if you're able.

How many things can one person flunk out of? Turns out,
it's a lot.
You can fail out of college, get an F in
emotional development, drop out of
your goddamn family, and impressively sputter
and wheeze in Being a Friend 101.