Here is an analysis.
The 'Julian' figure here does not correspond exactly to the presence of Julian Watts as a character in my life; rather, he is representative of a protective male figure, one which, at that time, I had but did not know how to make use of. He is also representative of a 'listener' figure, someone with whom I would theoretically be able to speak to about all the fucked up shit that was happening, without necessary response- but who would understand, effortlessly, what I meant. What's compelling about the poem is how I begin the conversation with Julian only to lead him into the enigmatic semi-discussion of the subjects at hand, never allowing him to have a part in the conversation.
"do you know anything about africa?" (line 2): Claire was, at that time, just returned from living in South Africa with her boyfriend Robert. This line, literally translated, means: Do you have any idea what happened to her there? The irony here is that Julian has no idea, but that I do. And what was that?: She lived in Robert's house for several months with no job and slowly fell into the depths of a deep, dangerous alcoholism (a manifestation of the disease she was actually suffering from; NOT the disease itself) which nearly took her life several times. And will continue to do so.
"that inky glue on the back of my throat:" (line 4): Semen. This line is derived from an unpleasant and wholly unexpected moment during which ejaculate was, well, ejaculated into the back of my throat. This experience left me feeling used and degraded (I don't even like giving head in the first place. And this unanounced indulgence made me so fucking angry) Which leads us to:
"this isn't plate-breaking material / this is not a kiss on the mouth and a kick in the jaw / this is not the tiny bones in my feet snapping." (lines 5-7) These lines are a deliniation of the fact that, even though I felt angry about the boy having cum in my mouth with no warning, the anger (and shame and disgust and feeling like a whore) were not passionate; rather, they were not passionate responses, but dejected and quietly seething emotions fueled by an intense self-hatred (and guilt! though that doesn't figure into this analysis of the poem, but to an analysis of that time itself) rather than a firey hatred of others. These emotions also apply directly to how I felt when Claire moved back home (especially that first night when my parents left me with her & she got so drunk & made me take care of her & how much I cried! Do you remember me crying on the phone to Caroline? Do you remember me sobbing into your arms?) Which leads us to:
"do you know about vomit in the sink? / and babies crying to you from their unbroken, perfect wombs?" (lines 8-9) This is, actually, a direct question, not to Julian but to Mark. When Claire told us, through her slurring blackout, that she was pregnant, I prickled and wanted to die. To me that baby was crying out to be aborted! I felt like such an asshole, but I couldn't think of a worse thing to happen to anybody! First of all, for her to have a baby, that would have straight up killed her, ripped her in half, literally. Second of all, the baby would have died, one way or another, either in the womb or out. And thirdly, our family would have been cleft into so many more pieces than it was already. ALSO I would not have gone to college, no money. But Mark. Oh, Mark. You sat with her as she chainsmoked and drank and drank and drank. You rationalised with her, you spoke to her like she was a real person (which at that time, and after that, she was not to me). You tried to take care of her! But what these lines are really saying is: you will never understand who Claire is, and you never can, because you never knew what the fuck I went through with her, even though you went through some of it, too, because to you it was ok but to me it was unpardonable and inconceivable and totally incomprehensible. I will never be able to explain what it meant that she got so sick. And so the question: do you know about vomit in the sink? is rhetorical, because you will never know. It isn't just the vomit, the purging and the manipulation of own her body and of others', it is the fact that I bled myself dry and thought myself responsible for so many years.
"julian, it's late" (line 10) this line is like me saying, it's too late for me to be able to tell you what it what all meant because there are never enough words for that, not after so many years of it.

and why did i write this? this analysis of meaningless, bad poetry written so long ago? because i have been thinking so much about the scars I bear from it all, and have been wanting (waiting?) to explain it, and the truth is that i did those things to my own body for the sole reason that i was punishing myself (it was not because I have no natural predators, no. just, no.); punishing myself both for having caused her sickness (i truly thought it was my fault!- which is something one day i will have to explain, just like everything else, but won't right now) and for feeling such guilt (on some level i knew it couldn't have been my fault, but was sure those feelings were just plain selfish).

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