Dear Thomas by Jason Arbogast

In the five years of our friendship,
I’ve never liked you.

I slept with Jill twice, once while you were married and once after the divorce.
She said you were more man, but I was more convenient.

Thomas you must have known it was me
who stole your job.
I sent you the party invitation.
You missed a good time.
The cake was your favorite,
chocolate.

And about your last Christmas party, Thomas,
perhaps it was in bad taste to give your daughter that Slim Fast.
But you must admit that she could be thinner.

Thomas I envied your car,
so I made sure to piss in the gas tank every morning
before going to your job.
Red really is more my color than yours.

Your lawn is green and mine is yellow, Thomas.
I find this unfair because I’ve been poisoning yours for months with salt water.
It tastes remarkably like sweat.
A point of pride on my part.
Craftsmanship.


I think I know your problem.
You remind me of that kid with glasses I picked on in high school.
You need to work on that, Thomas.
Get contacts.

You occupy my thoughts more than I’d like, Thomas.
I look at you every time I shave,
after every shower,
your picture on my mirror,
making sure to clean off the gathered moisture
with my towel
before I dry myself.

Jason Arbogast teaches English at Iowa State University and has been an educator in some fashion for the past nineteen years. He is the author of a short story collection, Lost and Found in Kalamazoo, and the novel Amber Sea of the Dead, published by Red Orchid Press. He has had pieces appear in right hand pointing, Defenestration, and other publications. He currently lives in Ames, Iowa.