His smile was a Tom waits song
Wrinkles and grey hair
Wry curmudgeon
Who still stayed up late
Not wanting to miss
A chance to complain
Or to touch her thigh
Sneaker and
Sweater
And scarf
Mr. Rogers cool
with a curse
And tequila
On his breath
If it was a bad night
Most weren’t
Maybe that’s why he never slept
To make sure
The nights stayed
Under his control
He was an argument
You’d never win
a heart you couldn’t
Catch
Always sliding away
Of the ice of
His words
I guess I’m supposed to be embarrassed
Everyone else seems to be
For me
I don’t go to law school
So I missed the instruction
That
Over forty
divorced existence
In public
Is a crime
Only whispered about
And only slightly
Preferable
To manslaughter
Which I understand
I’m also meant to
Crave
Swirling
Wished-for revenge
Through my teeth
Like the glass of
Malbec I had to
Buy myself
You just haven’t
Found him yet
They pat and
Comfort
And cringe
ever so slightly
Under concerned
Eyes
And above
relieved shoulders
I guess I’m supposed
To be sad
That BBC and flannel
Was my real trauma
That checking an
Unclaimed box
At hospital admission
Was my real crisis
That an empty box
In the back of my
Drawer
Was worse
Than a backyard of bones
I guess I’m not
Dark Yarn Productions 