Spit

"Spit", he told me loudly
So I spat in turns standing
on our living room couch.
The watermelon seeds from
yesterday's lunch fell in arc
and patterned the carpets
with red juice, spit, and those
tiny, black eyes. All staring
back into my eyes. That I
remember when I think
about the man on the moon
my friend for the days and
the lonely nights where I
was friendless and alone.