a circle of friends

i remember

watching the boy,

a teenage boy,

an honor society boy,

an athlete,

wrapping a rubber

tube around

his arm,

and then sticking a needle

full of heroin

into a fattened

vein.

the six or seven us,

all friends,

were in the darkened

basement,

lit up only by a black light

over the poster

of Jimi Hendrix. 

we were

listening to music,

eating, laughing, drinking.

the boy nodded off,

falling backwards

onto pillows,

with a smile on his pale

white face.

no longer were we kids

on the playground,

or helping each

with homework,

or spending the night

watching tv,

or calling girls on the phone.

this was different.

this was childhood

ending.