Everybody writes about you,
even me. I told you about
my hedges: they’re
perfect.
How does a privileged white boy
who doesn’t even drink
relate to you
as a person?
I don’t. Acne was no problem.
I played Romeo onstage
and scored with chicks.
What I liked was your writing;
it freed me to go
where every high school teacher
feared to tread.
So I went.
Here’s to you, Buk.
Lemon Sour Diesel
straight from Mendo.
