The boy's like a banana in a hoodie.
Tall, but he spends his time lying curved on the couch,
playing Smash with tiny twitches,
or steadily typing
Tight purple jeans. A black beanie in winter.
When the boy moves about the house,
he wears themed socks he's forgotten about
and consequently wears like normal socks.
He's so disloyal to the physical world,
you think, "This boy is a ghost,
assigned to haunt his own life."
You get to talking. He owns a cactus. His roommates are always
coming and going; they're half there. When he waters
the cactus, he does it in the sink. It's a process.
In the game of conversation, he misses so many moves
it begins to not be a game.
Instead it is more like reading. After one human speaks
the other will nod or suggest corrections.
Your heads bow low over the pages.
His voice is flat. You could kiss a ghost banana boy right now.