Dave The Mediocre Genie

We were twenty-three when Susan told Dave
she wished she could go out with him but
she didn’t date college students
just musicians
so Dave dropped out of Genie School to join the Bottle Rockets

Like most mediocre genie rock musicians
Dave played bass

Our first gig was at The Paradise
but like most mediocre rock bands we wished for bigger shows
                                                                                                           more fame
                                                                                                           better groupies

Nothing was ever enough arena
The cover of Rolling Stone didn’t show off enough of our fingers
I told Dave all I ever wanted was for us to feel content
The only one who benefited from my wish was Dave’s dealer

Halfway through our second national tour
Eric woke up hung over and freckled with needle bites
         turned to Dave and said I wish I was dead
Everyone cringed

I am a terrible wish maker
Desire — my fourth language
Spine — a staircase to my brain
My heart travels by wheelchair
I was barely fast enough to say
Eric I wish you hadn’t said that
 
We were on our fifth drummer
when Eric
                         still semi-alive
                         crumbled a fist full of scars
                         popped them into his choke and said I wish
and Dave shut Eric’s mouth with his own

There is so much silence that hangs on an unnamed desire
Eric couldn’t speak in front of Dave for fifteen years

The thing about genies is that
they only live forever with proper training

Without a degree or a lamp
genies who grant wishes rarely live past forty

The doctor called Dave’s slow fade into smoke
                                                                           starvation
His biographer would
                                                 decades later
                                                 refer to it as delayed
                                                                             spontaneous combustion

On his deathstretcher
after we all said our simple goodbyes
Eric pressed his lips to what was not yet smoke and
whispered Don’t ever leave me
​
This is why Eric cries constantly and coughs in his sleep

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