Glue

The three of us make quite a pair,
me, the third wheel and the glue
that solidifies this treacherous partnership.
I look at Chase, catch his eye, share a private moment,
all the while Lloyd stares at me
as if I am a Thanksgiving turkey.
He wants to carve my wings, stuff me,
only I keep him at arm’s length,
his sharp fangs unable to puncture my neck,
suck my blood: that little parasite.
Lloyd and Chase live together in a state
of confusion and betrayal, unable to free
themselves of their death grip.

I come along. I am the glue.
I hold everything together
with delicate balancing,
gracefully managing the balance beam
with a double round off, and a perfect dismount.
It’s a secret Chase and I share;
he’s loyal and kind, aware of Lloyd’s deceits
and insecurities, endangering trust
by taking, taking, always taking,
forging new bonds, he thinks, with someone
like me, or Tim, or Paul, or Kevin, or Whomever.

Alliances are tricky, but I am the glue.
I keep Lloyd at a safe, not quite respectful
distance, for respect is a two way street,
and he is unaware how cheap and disposable
he makes me feel, like a newspaper barely read,
facts unremembered, thrown into the trash.
I do not internalize this. I clearly state
what I think of him outright, teasingly,
loathing and enjoying him simultaneously,
because I am the glue. He’s stuck
to me, and still I push his paws away

I pledge allegiance to Chase, with forbidden kisses,
later feeling ashamed, with only slight regret.
Sometimes, I cannot even meet his eyes, fearing disloyalty
I have already committed, easily hurt. See, he cares about
mysterious, subconscious feelings.

Yet, it’s Lloyd and Chase bonded
in their seething hostility and love,
neither one trusting the other,
both loyal to me, undeservedly.

I am the glue.
I know the full story,
keeping their not so secret desires
and platitudes within
under lock and key.

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