at sleepovers
we’d bang on my keyboard and
eat cheap pizzas and
lay on the floor and
wake up with spider bites.

those friends,
i have to give it to them.

their houses were nice and showy
and their parents had things and made money.
how they managed to sleep on my basement floor,
on those thrifted air mattresses
that whizzed and sank all night,
and kept coming back

they must’ve really liked me.