|
dan and danny & me
it wasn't the lack of a woman
my brother danny could always get
a woman
or they would get him
he could stand on a street corner
and one would pull up
and he might get in
though it never seemed
to matter to him much
and I talk with dan
st. patrick's day in a suburban bar
drunken yuppies yelling
like the world was waiting
with panting ears for their
next blurt
the bartenders seem
to be drunk
the service sucks
it might have been the aliens
dan says
danny was talking about them
the night before
so few real people left
most of them pod people
watching him
and I said yeah
I feel like that a lot myself
it doesn't make me want
to die
at my house in olympia
danny roamed the back yard at night
shadow passing across the window
like a black cloud eating
the full moon
missing his kids I thought
wouldn't look for a job
he'd have to fill out applications
to be a painter?
I asked him
don't you just go paint?
but no he'd get checks and have
to get a bank to cash them
he'd have deductions
IRS FICA
they'd find him
let's get you a truck then
I said
you can be your own job
a few brushes and you're there
I'll front you the money
but no
he'd have to
get a driver's license
missing his kids
so we flew them out
took most of the money
he had left
to feed them pizza every night
buy them stuff at the mall
movies games ice cream
clothing CDs anything
and they took it all
and left
and he was worse
and my wife
well she was then
was busting my balls
every day
get him out of here
he's depressing he scares me
though I think it was
the other way around
and I called dan and said
danny needs to be closer
to his kids
indianapolis is lots closer
to chicago
and dan sent a ticket
and fixed danny up a room
said he'd get him a job
get him a car
drive him to chicago
anytime no problem
and we put danny on the plane
and that weekend
he was dead
last night in my house
I'm writing a poem
and danny comes in
talking about death again
and I tell him fu ck death
death is easy
life is hard
you got kids
you gotta live
you see how much they need you
and he said well one thing
I'd never do
is kill myself
too much to live for
the kids
no way
almost the last thing
he ever said to me except
for the usual airport
goodbyes
and that weekend they drove
to dan and dotties cabin
in the lake district up north
and danny walked off
into the trees
when they finally got back
to their house
after it all
the place had been ransacked
danny had gotten all the
prescriptions together
torn the place apart
looking for one more
before they'd picked
him up
as they found out
after the rest
he was hanging
from a tree
by his belt
dan found him
prescription bottles
everywhere
he'd taken them all
and I guess they weren't
enough
pulled himself up
by his strong arms
and just let go
swinging
his toes almost
touching
the earth
dan and I are waiting for
the waiter again
the waiter is talking
drunk-loud to a bunch of yuppies
waving menus in each hand
rainbow wings
it had to be insanity
dan says
but it didn't show
except for the
aliens
and hell we all talk
sometimes about
those
the cabin just sits there
nobody wants it now
but dottie's son tony
who lives there
and digs holes for septic tanks
and fights with his ex
over his kid
and dan's old cat
quasar was buried there
for a while
until dottie's ex
dug him up
dumped him in the driveway
with the stones dan put
on his grave
insanity everywhere
and now dottie
dying day by day the pain
medicated but this has
its own high price
and she sees danny in me
and sometimes
can't look at me can't
have me in the house
though other times
she hugs me when
she can stand
and the waiter leaves off
2 big glasses full
and we chew on ribs
and he says he'd tell
dottie different but now
and I say forget it
anyway nobody'd
mistake me for danny
I never looked that much
like jesus halo and all
it's the morphine
it's the pain
green beer and too-loud
laughing all around
and we sit here
the 3 of us
only 2 of us
drinking
without you
I am the roof that drips on
a grey april afternoon, methodical.
I am a song without words
in a room without light.
clocks move more slowly, back up, then
lurch forward, as if time were drunk.
bare winter trees provide no shade,
but at least there is no sun.
my coffee seems to have salt in it,
and there is not enough paste
in this paper sandwich.
first the room is cold, then hot.
the music stops, and I watch
the little red light blinking.
I will not speak until I
am spoken for.
when I sleep, I will not bother
to snore, or set the alarm.
in dreams, cats lick my hand.
but I cannot sleep enough.
when I wake I say I love you
to the ceiling.
this is not my life
these are its bones.
thin line through the distance
unbroken if in some quiet room
at times you speak
my name.
Home Next
|
|
