Granted

I wore almost all black where I was,
and all the restaurant was here is setting:
good beer, no food, and friends’ beauty;
“thick leather” couches, books, and shit weather—
late refuge—

I needed black socks, but I had a black pen
for when we took the coloring book there for drunks.
“Draw a friend in the empty space,” it read,
but “instead” I put “He’s already there!,”
and he was—

until, in his place,
I saw that Grant, a new friend,
had begun sketching something:
a pint of an ale or a stout or piss or something,
or—something—

—

Granted, it was well drawn,
for a sketch in a book for sketches by drunks,
but to be honest, honestly,
I wish he’d not drawn in the coloring book
where I said my friend was, at least.

“He’s already there!”